Deliverance
by Tinks231
Summary: Sequel to 'Shadows'. Home safe in the Pit, Nomad returns to the Joe team, ready to put the events of the last couple of months behind her and start her life again. But there's still Cobra to deal with...
1. Chapter 1

Well...here it is! The first chapter of my sequel to Shadows!

Oooh...I'm a little nervous about this one. More nervous than I was posting the first chapter of Shadows...because Shadows was pretty impressive for me (I'm not bragging, I'm just saying that it was pretty good for something _I've_ done) - and I really want this story to be just as good as Shadows was.

Once again, I struggled to come up with a title. Shadows I got from a label on a candle. Deliverance I picked up from a footy game that was on TV when I was writing - it was the only word that I heard the commentators say, and I was like, "Heeey..."

Whether or not it suits, I don't know yet...I may change it. :P Let me know what you think!

Anyway, I'm treating this story as just a direct continuation from Shadows - there'll be a little bit of recap in the next chapter, but apart from that, I'm just gonna try and get straight into the story. Once I get come up with some ideas :D

Okay...so, hopefully, you enjoy this story. If you do, please review and let me know - you might just inspire me! ;P I'm always open to suggestions and constructive criticism is always helpful.

Disclaimer - As much as I love G.I Joe and wish they were mine, they aren't. I write only for the fun of it and to share the Joe love.

And with that...here we go! Eeek!

* * *

><p><em>He hit her again, his fist slamming into her gut, forcing the air from her lungs. She wheezed, the rope around her chest - binding her to the chair - not allowing her to double over. Instead, she tried to sit as straight as she could, her head held high, trying to maintain some small shred of dignity while she tried to suck in a breath.<em>

_He waited until she could breathe again, patting the top of her head before prompting her to talk. "Stop making it so hard for yourself, Nomad. Just tell me where the Joe headquarters are, and I'll stop hurting you. I promise."_

_Still dizzy from the blow, Nomad glanced up at her interrogator - Andy, the man she'd once considered a friend. "Go to hell," she spat. "Bitch."_

_Andy sighed. "Nomad…Nomad. Come _on_. If you don't tell me, it's only gonna get worse. You _know_ that, right?"_

"_Fuck you. There's nothing…you could do that's…worse than what -"_

_Andy backhanded her, reopening one of the scabbed-over cuts on her lip. He leaned close to her. "Are you sure about that, Nomad?"_

_She looked him in the eye and gave a slightly demented laugh, scaring herself a little. "I've been to hell before, _Andy_."_

_He stepped back, leaned casually against the table, his head tilted slightly to one side. "Oh. Alright," he said eventually._

_Nomad frowned as he walked around the chair and knelt behind her, uncuffing one hand and gripping her wrist tightly. He shoved the chair further toward the table._

_She glanced quickly at the glass of water that was permanently on the table. It was almost in reach -_

"_Thirsty?" Andy wondered. "You know what you have to do to get a drink."_

_Nomad remained silent, then winced as Andy slapped her hand onto the tabletop, palm down. It hurt - he'd already ripped out every single one of her nails. What else -_

_Oh. Oh, god..._

_Andy smiled warmly at her as he pulled the hammer from a pocket of his Crimson Guardsman uniform - the red uniform worn by the elite soldiers of the terrorist organisation, Cobra. He'd been one all along, and she'd been to stupid to realise -_

_No. She couldn't have realised. There'd been no reason to think he was the enemy, no signs, nothing._

_He was still looking at her, flipping the hammer into the air and catching it again. "I mean it, Nomad. I don't _have_ to do this."_

_She tried to clench her fist._

"_Uh uh," he said, leaning heavily on the back of her hand, flattening it._

"_Fuck you," she said again through gritted teeth._

_Andy sighed. "Fine. Be like that."_

_She couldn't stop the pathetic whine that came from her throat as Andy raised the hammer. She braced herself._

_The hammer came down -_

"Stop!_" _

_Andy quickly adjusted his swing and the hammer whammed loudly onto the table, leaving a dent. "Yes?" he asked smugly._

_Nomad hung her head in shame. "Please…don't hurt me anymore. I'll…I'll tell you everything."_

* * *

><p>"NO!"<p>

Nomad's eyes snapped open and she jerked violently, suddenly wide awake, breathing hard. Her heart felt like it was trying to squeeze its way up through her throat and out of her mouth. She was sweating as if she'd just come in from a hard physical training session - her stripy infirmary-issue pyjamas were drenched. The sheets were bunched down around her legs.

What the hell was that? That hadn't happened. Not that last bit, anyway. She _hadn't_ broken…she hadn't told Andy _anything_.

He'd gone ahead and broken her nail-less fingers. The thought made her aware that her hands were throbbing again now; the painkillers were wearing off.

Nomad took a deep breath, winced as her broken rib twinged, and sank back onto her pillow, staring blankly at one of the posters on the roof of the infirmary. Oddly enough, it was fastened to the roof with throwing stars, one in each corner.

In what had seemed like a pure act of kindness, Storm Shadow had put the poster up there a few months ago for another wounded Joe, a young woman named Jeckle. It was one of those '3D' ones that used to be really popular in the 90s - the ones you had to kind of stare _through_ to see the hidden image. Nomad could see it now: it was a rose.

Nomad refocused her eyes and grinned at the memory. Jeckle couldn't do those pictures - which was probably the reason Stormy had put that particular one up there. Jeckle had spent hours glaring at that poster, trying to see it, swearing at the ninja under her breath. Storm Shadow, of course, claimed innocence.

A few days later, the Joes' other resident ninja, Snake Eyes, had relented and stuck up a few other posters. Nomad could've described each of them precisely, down to the creases in the corner of the wolf one.

It wasn't that she'd been in the infirmary for a long time - it had only been a couple of days since she'd got back from the last mission - but they'd been _long_ days. Lifeline, the shaggy-haired, kind-faced medic - had typically refused to let her leave her bed.

Which, she had to admit, was probably a good thing, given the extent of her injuries. But Nomad hated the infirmary - hated it like she'd never hated anything else.

She'd spent far too much of her life in hospital already.

"Nomad? You okay?" The curtain separating Nomad's bed from the main room of the infirmary drew back a little, and Lifeline poked his head around. He looked worried.

Nomad went to wave a hand dismissively, but winced as her broken fingers - now set with pins and bandaged firmly - protested. "Yeah," she said, giving him a nod instead. She thought about not telling him why she'd yelled out…and then decided against it. He'd find out anyway, the damn nosy medic. "It was just a bad dream. I'm fine."

Lifeline crossed her sectioned-off cubicle and sat in the chair beside her bed, the concern on his face deepening. "You wanna talk about it?"

Nomad answered without thinking. "Not really." She knew immediately that it was the wrong thing to say.

Lifeline gave her a stern look. "Nomad, don't do this to yourself again." Maybe he thought his tone had been too harsh, because he paused, then added jokingly, "Or do I have to go get Psyche Out?"

She played along, letting him know she hadn't taken offence. "No! Not Psyche Out! Please, I'll be good…Anything but Psyche Out!"

The medic laughed - and then his expression turned serious, and he looked at her expectantly.

"Damn you, medic," she said good-naturedly. Then she sighed. "It's…it's not like the dreams I usually have. It wasn't - I mean, it _was _about Cobra Island…"

Lifeline waited patiently as she frowned to herself, trying to think of the right way to explain it.

"It was different," she said eventually. "The nightmares I have, about the Amazon, they were…almost real. Like it was happening all over again, _exactly_ the same. This one changed. At the end…I broke."

He reached over and put a comforting hand on her arm. "Hey. It was just a bad dream. You didn't give Cobra anything, Nomad. You beat them."

"I know…" She paused, then decided to ask the question that had been on her mind for the last two days. "But…Lifeline, what if I _had_ told them?"

He shook his head. "You didn't. Don't you even worry about that."

Nomad knew she _would_ worry, no matter what anyone said, but nodded anyway. "Okay. Hey, I didn't wake up anybody out there, did I?"

"Nah. Steeler's out cold and Clutch is cracking himself up watching a rerun of _Gilligan's Island_."

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Gilligan? Really?"

"Yeah. He's still a little doped up on painkillers," Lifeline explained with a snigger. "But don't change the subject."

"I wasn't changing the - alright, alright, maybe I was."

Lifeline peered down at her through his glasses. "You were tortured, Nomad, mostly in the same way as you were in the Amazon. It's going to have _some_ kind of effect on you."

"What, are you taking lessons from the shrink, now?" she joked.

Lifeline didn't laugh. "I don't _need_ to take lessons from the shrink," he said. "It's just like when Lowlight got shot. Just...don't do anything stupid, okay?"

It wasn't worth getting annoyed over: Lifeline, as usual, was right. "Look…I know I'm gonna have to go talk to Psyche Out," she said quietly. "And I will, as soon as I can."

The medic looked at her. "Promise?"

She nodded. "_Yes_, I promise. As soon as you let me out of this damn bed."

"Nice try, but you're staying put for a little while yet," he said dryly.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Nomad said lightly. "But…you know…I think I'm gonna be okay this time."

"Really?"

"Uh huh."

"Why's that?" Lifeline asked, genuinely curious.

Nomad smiled and glanced sideways at the flowers and 'get-well-soon' cards that took up most of the space on her bedside table. "Because last time, I didn't have a bunch of pain-in-the-ass Joes hanging around."

"Ah. Well, there _is_ that. Nice to know we're good for _something_." The medic grinned.

"Mind if I interrupt?"

Nomad and Lifeline both looked up as the curtain swished aside again, revealing a tall, broad-shouldered man in fatigues and a well-worn brown jacket with a fleece-lined collar. His shoulder holster was still buckled snugly over the top of the jacket, but the .45 calibre handgun that usually occupied it was missing - weapons weren't allowed in the infirmary.

Not even if they were being carried by the head of the G.I Joe team himself: General Clayton M. Abernathy, codenamed Hawk.

Nomad glanced up at the poster fixed to the roof with throwing stars. Of course, certain individuals always managed to find a way around the 'no weapons' rule.

"Morning, Hawk," Lifeline said easily, standing up. He glanced down at Nomad and patted her right shoulder - the shoulder that didn't have a thick, tight bandage covering a stitched-up bullet wound. "I'll be in the office. I'll leave the door open - just call if you need anything, okay?"

"Wait -" she started, glancing at Hawk apprehensively.

The medic gave her a reassuring smile, nodded to Hawk, and drew the curtain shut after him as he headed back to the infirmary office.

Hawk's sharp blue eyes studied Nomad for a long time, taking in the sweaty pyjamas, her tangled hair, her bandaged hands gingerly held against her belly.

Nomad shifted nervously under his gaze. She respected the man - you couldn't _not_ respect Hawk. He didn't _command_ respect from his troops - he was better than that. He _earned_ it, and he damn well deserved it. Hawk was a good man.

However, this occasion was a little different to most of the other times she'd found herself in his presence. It was largely thanks to Hawk that she was here.

She hadn't seen him since she'd got back to the Pit. Actually, she hadn't really seen _anyone_; Lifeline and Doc, the Joes' resident doctor, hadn't allowed her any visitors yet.

…Not even Lowlight…

"Um…sir?" Nomad prompted. "Did…was there something you wanted to talk about?"

The general sat down, his shoulder holster creaking softly. "How're you feeling, Nomad?"

She tried to make light of her wounds. "Still a little sore, sir, but I'll be fine in a few days."

Hawk raised an eyebrow.

"Well…more like a couple of weeks," she amended. "But I'll get there."

He nodded, checking out the goodies on her bedside table, straightening a card that had fallen over. Nomad winced - it was a rather crude card sent by two certain mechanics.

Of all the cards, why did Hawk have to see _that_ one?

"Is there anything I can get you?" he asked.

"What?" Nomad looked at him, a little surprised. Surely he had more important things to do than worry about her? She realised how rude she sounded. "I mean…no, sir. I'm good. That's what Lifeline's for."

General Hawk chuckled, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands together.

Nomad swallowed. The man looked serious; like he was about to drop something heavy on her.

He did. "I wanted to talk to you about the last mission."

She wondered if she was in trouble. It was her own stupid fault she'd been captured by the arms dealer, Destro, a little over a week ago. It had been in her own apartment; she'd come home to find the lights cut. She'd scouted the place out - but she'd forgotten to glance out at the fire escape. Once she was in her bedroom, with no other escape route, Destro and his troops had closed in on her. "Yes, sir? What about it?"

When Hawk spoke again, his voice was quiet, but firm. "I know it's only been a couple of days, and I know you've still got a lot to sort out -"

"General, I'm going to go see Psyche Out as soon as -"

Hawk held up a hand. Nomad shut her mouth quickly.

"You can do that in your own time," he said bluntly. "I'm talking about a debrief. I need to hear what happened - _all_ of it, from your point of view. Are you up for it?"

So...she wasn't in trouble? Nomad let out a sneaky sigh of relief, closing her eyes for a moment - and in doing so, she missed the slight smile that played across Hawk's face. It was gone by the time she looked at him again. "You got it, Hawk. Now?"

He gave her a quick once-over. "Let's make it at 1300 hours," he said, standing. "In my office." He turned to leave.

Nomad watched his back, then decided to go for it. "Um…Hawk?"

He looked over his shoulder, one hand reaching for the curtain.

"Sir…can I -"

On the other hand, maybe now wasn't the right time. Maybe she should wait…

"Go on, Nomad," he prompted.

Well…she'd started, she might as well finish. "General, I'd like to be reinstated. I wanna be a Joe again," she blurted out.

Hawk looked at her for a long time - so long, she began to think he was going to refuse. Blushing bright red, she shook her head. "Uh…look, forget I even -"

"You'll be up for convalescence in a couple weeks," he interrupted. "I suggest you take the time off and rest up before returning to active duty. I get the feeling things are gonna get pretty busy in the next few months. We're going to need all hands on deck."

Suddenly, Nomad didn't give a damn about the throbbing pain that was increasing as the painkillers wore off. Just like that, she was a Joe again!

Well, not until the paperwork was signed, but still…she was essentially back in the team! Nomad smiled brightly at the general. "Thank you, sir. I won't let you down again."

"You haven't let me down, Nomad. The rest of the unit I sent in has already been debriefed - Storm Shadow included. After what he told me, I put in a commendation for you. You've got a Purple Heart coming to you."

"What? No...sir, I didn't do anything -"

"You did enough. And you deserve to be recognised for it. Of course, you'll only be able to look at the medal before it goes into a vault…but _we'll_ all know it's there."

"I…Hawk...thanks." Nomad blinked quickly as her eyes started to well up. She changed the subject quickly, before she started bawling. "Hey, I'd salute, but…" She gently flapped her bandaged hands.

The General shook his head, a familiar long-suffering expression on his face. "I'll see you in my office at 1300 hours." Hawk brushed the curtain aside and disappeared from sight.

Nomad checked the clock on the bedside table. Just past 10.30. That gave her two and a half hours to prepare - mentally and physically - for her debrief.

By the time she got herself showered, dressed, and relatively presentable - with minimal pain - it would be almost time to head for Hawk's office.

"Hey, Lifeline!"

* * *

><p>The big man with the spiky blonde hair clenched his jaw, focusing hard as he slammed his fists into the punching bag, sweat dripping down his face, the chest and back of his white t-shirt soaked. The top half of his prison-issue coveralls hung loosely, the sleeves tied around his solid, tree-trunk sized waist.<p>

_Thump. Thump thump. Thwack._

He really had nothing to complain about: he'd got off lightly. Well…if seven years in the maximum security facility of Fort Leavenworth could be called 'light'.

Which, in all honesty, it couldn't.

A year. It'd been almost a year since he'd been thrown in here. Another couple of weeks, and it'd be a year _exactly_.

He'd had a lot of time to think. And the more he thought, the more _frustrated_ he got. The angrier he got.

He shouldn't be in here. It wasn't supposed to happen like this.

It was _her_. The little bitch and the asshole captain. _They _were why he was in this fucking place. But in the end - even though it hadn't turned out how it was supposed to - he had the last laugh.

They'd been aiming for the death penalty. They hadn't planned on him serving time.

It had only been his influence as a general that had saved him from a lethal injection. One of the other generals on the jury at the court martial had owed him a favour. That, and some of the other generals didn't like the idea of seeing a man of their own rank brought down by a young Corporal and her obnoxious surrogate CO. Apparently, it was a little too close for comfort.

Still…it had been closer than the big blonde man had wanted. He hadn't expected to see the brat alive - now _that_ had been a real shock. To this day, he still didn't know how she'd made it. He should've finished her off back in the Amazon; slit her throat after she gave him what he wanted. Snapped her neck. Blown her brains out, just like the rest of her team.

It hadn't been personal, back then. He tried to be nice about it - but the idealistic little brat hadn't obeyed his orders. He'd given her plenty of chances, but it wasn't until half her guts were hanging out that she told him, and by then it was too late.

Or he'd thought it was. That was why he hadn't bothered to finish the job. Nobody could've survived that. Right?

But then, somehow, he'd been found and arrested. And when the plane landed, and he was marched out onto the tarmac at gunpoint, he saw her.

He thought he'd seen a ghost.

Once he'd got over that little surprise…_then_ it had become personal. Because the little bitch was out to get him.

The look on her face when she'd lost the long, drawn out court case had been worth it. And when she'd tried to attack him, after his last taunt…priceless.

And in another six years, he'd be out. Sure, he wouldn't be able to enlist in the defence force…but there were other opportunities for a man like him.

Better _paying_ opportunities.

Hell, maybe he could finish what he started, before he'd been caught…

Maybe he could even pay her a visit -

A knock on his cell door and the familiar order to 'move away from the door' interrupted his thoughts. He turned, stripping his gloves off as the door swung open and two military policemen stepped in without a word. The door closed behind them.

"What the hell do you want?"

"General Goldilocks?" one of the MPs asked, looking him up and down.

New guys. Goldilocks hadn't seen either of them before. He sized them up before scowling, wiping the sweat from his face with a towel. "In case you haven't noticed, this is a prison. I've been stripped of my rank."

The guy who'd spoken stepped forward. Goldilocks held his ground. It wasn't unusual for some of the prison guards to dish out a little violence toward the inmates - somehow, the honchos running the place never seemed to notice.

Prison was funny like that. It was like a tiny little world _within_ the world - a place that was governed by its own set of rules.

Despite their own crimes, the inmates had their own twisted sense of justice, too. Ex-soldiers who'd turned on their own units - killed their own men (and attempted to kill a _woman_, which was worse) - weren't taken to kindly.

The inmates had learned the hard way to leave Goldilocks alone - he'd put one man in the infirmary with two broken legs, a shattered arm and punctured lungs. That guy had died not long after, drowning in his own blood before the doctors had the chance to do anything. The second man to take a shot had pulled a shiv on Goldilocks, only to end up with the blade driven into his brain, only an inch of the handle left visible, sticking out of his eye socket.

Another favour owed to Goldilocks had taken care of those situations. All the questions went away, and it hadn't been mentioned since.

"Whatever," the MP said dismissively. He gestured to the second guy, who pulled a set of handcuffs from his pocket. They were prison cuffs - handcuffs attached to a chain, which in turn was linked to a pair of ankle cuffs.

What the fuck was this? Nobody had told him anything about going anywhere. Goldilocks moved quickly, lunging forward, grabbing the first MP by the throat and literally throwing him against the wall, his massive, muscled forearm crushing the guy's windpipe.

The second man just watched, the cuffs dangling from one finger.

Goldilocks looked down at the MP pinned to the wall. The man wasn't small - he was easily six foot, maybe a little taller, and solid.

But Goldilocks was bigger, a giant six foot six, and he was _fit_. "Who are you?" he snarled.

"We're offering you a free ticket out of this shithole. Does it really matter who we are?" the MP choked out.

Goldilocks didn't lessen the pressure on the man's throat, glancing over his shoulder at the second guy. "You better start talking, or I'm gonna snap his neck like a toothpick."

The MP cocked his head to one side - and Goldilocks suddenly didn't like the way the guy was looking at him. "General - I'm sorry. _Goldilocks_," he said. He sounded sure of himself, almost arrogantly so. "We don't have much time here, so I'll give you the short version. Our employer would like to make you an offer."

"And who would your employer be?" Goldilocks prompted impatiently.

"I think maybe you'd like to hear the offer, first," the second MP continued. "It goes something like this - we get you out of here, you sign up with our organisation, and you can have your rank restored and be given command of a unit of troops. We aren't _technically_ military - but I'm pretty sure that wouldn't matter to you, right? Given your history?"

What the hell was this guy talking about? Goldilocks studied him. He had to admit, he was a little curious. "Or…?"

"Or you can stay in here and serve out the rest of your sentence, having to watch your back every minute of every day." The second MP paused. "I know what choice _I'd_ be making."

Goldilocks flicked his eyes back to the guy pinned to the wall…and let him go. "I'll ask one more time. Who's your employer? And who the fuck are you?"

The guy rubbed his throat. "Make your choice," he growled, heading for the door. "And make it quick. I'm not waiting around for those idiots out there to realise something's wrong."

Well. The guy was blunt. Not only that, but he'd called Goldilocks' bluff.

So…stay and serve out his sentence - or get out of Leavenworth, sign up with whoever these guys were and see where things went from there.

What the hell kind of choice was that?

"Alright," Goldilocks said quickly. "I'll go."

"Nice," the second MP said stepping forward. "Here, put these on."

Goldilocks paused, eyeing the cuffs suspiciously.

The first MP turned impatiently. "Just do it. Our cover story is we're transporting you to another facility."

Goldilocks put the cuffs on…loosely.

"Good." The MPs each grabbed an elbow. The first opened the door, and the three of them strode out into the corridor, straight past the guards standing at their posts, looking bored.

They wouldn't be bored once they realised what'd happened right under their noses.

"I didn't catch your names," Goldilocks said, his voice low.

The bigger MP nodded to the guard at the end of the corridor. The guard unlocked the gate, throwing Goldilocks a disgusted look.

"I'm Andy," the second MP said, once they were out of earshot.

"Zartan," the other said shortly.

Goldilocks noticed Zartan kept his head down whenever they got close to the roof-mounted security cameras. He'd look up once they were past - but made no attempt to avert his face from the cameras further on until they were, again, closer. "And your employer?" Goldilocks pressed.

Zartan gave a sly grin. "He goes by the name of Cobra Commander. And he's met somebody you know well…a soldier called Nomad."

Goldilocks frowned. "I don't know -"

Andy chuckled. "Sure you do, _General_," he said. "She used to go by the name of Dynamite."


	2. Chapter 2

Well...second chapter. It took long enough...last couple of weeks have been pretty crappy. My Pop passed away last week; funeral was a couple of days ago. Didn't really feel like writing much, so...yeah. Not a great time. Not wanting to sound whiny, or anything. Just saying.

...So there's my excuse for the dodgy chapter... :P

So, this's mostly a recap of what happened toward the end of Shadows, and a brief history of Nomad. Sorry it's a little boring...promise the next chapter will be more interesting. And I'll get Lowlight in there, like he was supposed to be in this one.

And thanks for all the reviews and PMs. Heh heh...a few more might make me happier :D

* * *

><p>"This is not cool, PIA. <em>Not<em> cool."

"Nomad, I swear; if you don't stop complaining I'll take you outside and roll you into the mud pit."

"You wouldn't do that to helpless, wheelchair-bound me," she retorted as Lifeline pushed her wheelchair down the corridor. "Anyway, if you were a better driver, I wouldn't _have_ to complain."

Nomad couldn't stand wheelchairs. They _did_ make her feel helpless...and useless. Especially when she couldn't roll herself around. Right now, it was taking everything she had to keep herself from grabbing the wheel-rims…plus the thought of how much it would hurt her hands if she _did_ try to grab hold.

Not to mention the fact that Lifeline would've yelled at her.

The medic was hobbling a little himself. He'd been shot during the last mission as well - just above the knee. It had looked pretty bad; there'd been a lot of blood. He'd already assured her it had looked worse than it actually was - it was just a flesh wound. The round had dug a deep channel across the front of his leg as he'd been turning to dive for cover. He'd been lucky the bullet hadn't shattered his knee.

"There's nothing wrong with my driving," Lifeline answered patiently. "You're just annoyed at me."

"Well, if you'd just let me _walk_ -"

"No."

"But my _legs_ aren't -"

Lifeline abruptly stopped the wheelchair, stepped around in front of it and put his hands on the armrests, leaning down and looking at her sternly. "Listen to me. You are _not_ getting out of this chair until Doc or I say you can, do you hear me? I'm not having you pop your stitches _again_ and causing more damage."

"But Lifeliiiiine…" she whined.

"Give it up, Nomad."

With a sigh, she slumped back into the chair. There was no arguing with the medic when he took that tone. "Fine," she grumbled. "But I'm holding this against you, you know."

"Go ahead," Lifeline retorted, but when Nomad tilted her head up to look at him, he was smiling.

It was close to 1300. Almost time for Nomad's debrief of the last mission; the mission that had been her rescue.

Much to Nomad's relief, Lifeline hadn't been the one to help her get ready for her debrief. Now _that_ could've been embarrassing for both of them. Once she'd told the medic what Hawk had wanted, he immediately called in an intern, a greenshirt Nomad hadn't met before. Apparently, the woman had transferred from the army a couple of weeks ago. Her name - bestowed upon her by the ever-trippy Footloose, who was apparently quite taken with her - was Kismet.

Kismet was around Nomad's height (five feet eight), with shoulder length brown hair tied back in a ponytail. She didn't say much - when she _did_ speak her voice was soft and almost hesitant. She had big green eyes that looked perpetually worried - like the woman could burst into tears at any moment.

Nomad wondered if Kismet was always like that, or if she was just shy…if she was shy, she'd have to get over that pretty quick. The Joes wouldn't give her any peace until she did. Nomad knew that from experience.

Kismet took Nomad into the bathroom and helped her clean herself up, washing away the slightly gritty, sweaty feeling. She brushed the tangles from Nomad's hair and quickly braided it, then got Nomad into her BDUs and a white t-shirt that was probably big enough to fit Roadblock. Nomad's usual tank-top would be too tight; it would rub against and aggravate the stitches in her belly.

Once Nomad was ready, Kismet had pushed Nomad's wheelchair out into the main room. Steeler was still sacked out; he had a dressing taped over his forehead and left eye, and underneath the blanket tucked around him she could see the edges of a bandage wrapped around his broad chest. Kismet quickly assured her that the tank jockey was going to be fine.

Clutch had finished watching Gilligan and was slightly less high by then, so Nomad had sat by his bed comparing shoulder wounds - the mechanic had been also shot on the mission to Cobra Island. He hadn't been quite as lucky as Nomad; whereas the round shot into her had gone straight through relatively harmlessly, the bullet with Clutch's name on it had nicked his collarbone and fractured it.

"Well," she'd said, trying to keep her voice light, "at least you'll still be on your feet again before I will."

The dark-haired, unshaven man had reached out and lightly patted her cheek. "You've had worse. Don't let it get you down." He'd paused, his blue eyes glinting. "On the other hand, that means I'll finally be able to push you around. Literally."

"I'd love to see you try, grease monkey."

"Oh, you'd love it, alright. Wonder if I could get Beach to make a rollercoaster outta the obstacle course..."

"…You moron."

Clutch's jokes had only got dirtier from then on. Nomad was pretty sure it was because he knew she was stuck by his side until somebody came to get her. Fortunately, Lifeline had come to her rescue five minutes later.

So now they walked on in silence, Nomad's foot jiggling impatiently on the wheelchair's footrest, rattling it. Her feet were bare, revealing mottled purple and yellowish bruises; the result of beatings with a metal rod. Her toenails had all been ripped out.

Despite how bad her feet looked, though, they didn't hurt all that much; Nomad figured it was because all her attention was focused on the bigger issues - the lattice of cuts and stab wounds on her belly, a long slash that extended from wrist to elbow on her right arm, her busted and torn fingers. Old wounds from a previous mission that had gone wrong, reopened by Andy the Cobra psychologist and interrogator.

"Nomad! Hey! Hey, Lifeline, hold up a sec!"

Nomad glanced up from her ugly feet to see a man jogging toward them, a huge smile plastered across his face. A visored helmet hung from his hand. He was covered in splotches of bright yellow paint - apparently, he'd just come in from losing an exercise on the firing range.

Lifeline stopped, putting the brakes on the wheelchair, sighing. "And it starts," he said lightly, prodding Nomad's good shoulder gently. "Make it quick, Sci-Fi, she's got an appointment with Hawk."

The laser gunner skidded to a stop on his knees beside the wheelchair. "Man, is it good to see _you_ up and about again!" he exclaimed, patting Nomad's arm.

She gestured to the wheelchair, grimacing. "Well, hardly _up_," she said. She ignored Lifeline's exasperated sigh.

"It's better than being stuck in bed, though, isn't it?" Sci-Fi asked.

"…Yeah. That's true."

He looked her over, taking in the cuts and bruises on her face, looking down at her hands and swearing. "Geez, the bastards really worked you over, didn't they?"

"Sci-Fi…" Lifeline warned quietly.

"Oh. Shit. Right." The laser gunner shifted awkwardly. "Sor -"

"It's alright," Nomad said, shaking her head. Still, she wanted to change the subject; She raised an eyebrow at Sci-Fi's paint-splattered BDUs, chuckled, then hissed slightly as her broken rib complained. "Bad day in the trenches, huh?"

Sci-Fi glanced down, tugging at his sleeve. "You bet," he said with a nod. "Lowlight's been running our asses into the dirt ever since you left."

Nomad perked up slightly. She hadn't heard that - hadn't heard much of _anything_ that'd happened in the Pit since she'd resigned, just over two months ago. "He has?"

"Uh huh. We all thought that, you know, since you're back and all, he'd start going easy on us, but nooo…" Sci-Fi peered up at Lifeline. "He's driving us all nuts out there. Let the man in to see his girl, already!"

Nomad also looked up at the medic innocently. "Yeah, Lifeline."

He rolled his eyes. "Maybe later," he said - clearly just to placate her. He glanced pointedly at his watch. "Sci-Fi, we've got to go -"

"Alright, alright," the laser gunner said, standing up. "Hey, can she have visitors yet?"

Nomad answered before Lifeline got the chance to. "Sure can."

"Sweet! I'll tell Tripwire, he really wants -"

"Not Tripwire!" Lifeline said loudly, holding up his hands.

"But -"

"Come on, Lifeline," Nomad pleaded. "Please?"

"Nomad -" the medic started, but he stopped as he met her eyes. She tried to look as sweet as possible; she didn't think she quite pulled it off, what with the bruises and cuts on her face.

Still, Lifeline bit his lip, then shook his head and flapped his arms in defeat. "Okay. Fine. I'll start letting people in to see you."

If she could've, she would've punched the air. Instead, she settled for a triumphant, "_Yes_!"

Lifeline held up a hand. "But _only_ if you stop complaining about the wheelchair."

"Deal. And I'll even throw in a hug…when I can move again without hurting something."

"Good. Now, can we go? You _know_ you don't keep Hawk waiting."

Sci-Fi flashed her a mischievous grin, tucked his helmet under his arm and gave a double thumbs up. "See you later, then," he said. "It's good to have you back, Nomad. Seriously."

"Thanks, Sci-Fi. It's good to _be_ back."

Lifeline resumed wheeling her down the corridor. "Now, if we can get to Hawk's office without any more -"

"Well, hey there, Nomad!"

Lifeline sighed impatiently.

Nomad glanced up at him as Cross Country beelined for them. "Come on, medic, you _asked_ for that."

* * *

><p>Eventually - after several more stops caused by Joes eager to welcome Nomad home - she and Lifeline stopped outside the door to Hawk's office. Lifeline reached over her head and knocked on the door.<p>

"At least let me walk in there," Nomad pressed, leaning forward. She didn't know what it was - but the thought of being pushed into Hawk's office in the wheelchair didn't seem right.

Well…that was a lie. She _did_ know what it was: she didn't want Hawk to see her in that chair. It was stupid, and she knew it - Hawk wouldn't care if she was wheelchair-bound. Nomad was just being stubborn. And maybe just a little bit vain.

Lifeline shook his head, holding her back. "_No_."

"Lifeline, it's…what, a whole five metres to Hawk's desk? I can manage five metres!"

"You _said_ you'd stop complaining about the wheelchair," he pointed out disapprovingly.

Nomad gave him a smug look. "I'm not complaining about the wheelchair, I'm complaining about not being able to walk. There's a difference."

"Technicality," he retorted.

"Come on, PIA…just once. _Once_. Just into the office."

He shook his head.

"Okay, you know what?" Nomad said, putting her bare feet on the floor. "Fuck this, I'm -"

"Nomad, I _order_ you to stay in that chair," Lifeline said firmly.

Dammit. "You can't do that," she tried.

He gave her a look. "I think you'll find I can."

Nomad sighed; she knew Lifeline was right. He _could_ do that. Not only was he a medical officer, but he was (and she often forgot this; he was so easygoing) her superior. Lifeline rarely pulled rank, so when he did - usually when somebody was being difficult in the infirmary - you listened to him.

Otherwise he threatened medical leave, and no respectable soldier liked _that _idea.

The door swung open. "You realise we can hear you?"

Nomad glanced up at the man in the beret now standing before her, blocking the doorframe. "Uh…hi, Flint," she said.

"Guess you were too busy arguing to hear Hawk say come in, huh?" the big warrant officer asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Well…we weren't really _arguing_," Nomad said, blushing bright red.

"No, we were arguing," Lifeline corrected, grinning.

Flint waved a hand dismissively. "Are you gonna come in or not?"

"Ask him." She jerked her head back in Lifeline's direction. "He won't let me drive myself." She felt the medic's sigh on the top of her head. With a knowing chuckle, Flint stepped aside, allowing her to see into Hawk's office.

Hawk's desk was to one end of the room. There were a couple of filing cabinets behind it, one to each side. There was a chair in front of the desk - probably just vacated by Flint when he answered the door. There was another man in the room, standing behind the chair - a tall, extremely fit man with intense brown eyes, dark hair and…a presence. He wore all white, and he just happened to be a real live ninja.

Nomad owed Storm Shadow her life at least three times over. Of course, he took every chance he could to remind her of that. Damn ninja.

General Hawk himself was sitting on the corner of the desk talking to Storm, one foot on the floor, the other hanging. He no longer wore the brown jacket - it was hanging over the back of his chair. The shoulder holster, now with the .45 sticking out of it, was thrown casually over the top. The sleeves of his plain olive green shirt were rolled up to his elbows.

Nomad smiled as she noticed Hawk's combat-booted foot - the one not on the floor - swinging idly back and forth. This was the most casual she'd ever seen him - it was a nice change to see the man not standing proud in his dress greens or kicking ass in his BDUs. Right now, he just looked like one of the regular guys.

But then he turned his gaze on her, caught her studying him, and she blinked and looked down at her hands, embarrassed all over again.

"_Don't_ let her out of that chair." Behind her, Lifeline was warning Flint. "And when you're done here, you bring her _straight_ back to the infirmary."

"I'm right here, Lifeline," Nomad said grumpily. "And I'm not deaf, you know."

He patted the top of her head - but jerked his hand away as she flinched. She couldn't stop herself - Andy had patted her head like that.

Lifeline tactfully didn't mention it and dropped his hand to her shoulder instead, giving a reassuring little squeeze. "I know," he said, "but if I tell Flint, he might listen."

Flint opened his mouth, then closed it and nodded unconvincingly, winking roguishly at Nomad.

Again, Lifeline sighed. "_Might_ being the key word there. Flint, if you abduct my patient -"

"Sorry, Lifeline, Hawk's waiting," Flint interrupted, bundling the protesting man out the door.

"But - hey!"

Flint slammed the door in the hapless medic's face.

"Alright, _fine_! But don't keep her out for too long!" Lifeline shouted through the door.

Nomad pulled a face. "Or what, I'll spoil?" she said to nobody in particular.

Flint heard her and laughed. "One day, he's just gonna snap," he pointed out.

"I know. _God_, I hope I'm there to see it."

As Storm Shadow moved the chair aside, Flint parked the wheelchair in front of the desk. Storm leaned down. "You owe me a paycheck," he reminded her.

She heard the grin in his voice. "Nice to see you again, too, Stormy. How've you been?" She paused. "And anyway, I only owe you a hundred and fifty. Three rescues, fifty bucks each, right?"

"I'm taking advance payments."

"Trust me, you won't be needing advance payments for a while," she said dryly, glancing down at herself.

"Good point. The offer still stands, though."

Hawk cleared his throat. All three Joes fell silent, turning to the general. He fixed his eyes on Nomad, gesturing to the two others. "Nomad, Storm Shadow and Flint are here to fill the blanks for you. Hopefully, by the end of this debrief, you'll have the full story. But I want _you_ to start off. I want to know everything."

Nomad swallowed nervously. "Everything?"

The general nodded.

Damn…she'd thought she'd be okay with it. Suddenly, she wasn't so sure; going through everything Andy had done to her…and then there was the brainwave scanner…

But she'd told Hawk before that she could handle it. She wasn't going to back out now.

"Nomad?" Hawk prompted.

She squared her shoulders - or at least, her good one - and looked up at him. "Where do you want me to start, sir?"

"From the start. Just after you resigned. Take as long as you need."

"Yes, sir." Nomad took a moment to gather her thoughts, took a deep breath. "So…after I got on the bus…"

* * *

><p>She told Hawk, Storm Shadow and Flint everything that had happened in the two months after she'd resigned from G.I Joe - the top-secret anti-terrorist organisation made up of the very best soldiers in the armed forces. Nomad had been a part of this team for the last few months - Hawk had recruited her personally, seeking her out after her boss at the time recommended her to him.<p>

Nomad had history. Hawk had come to see her while she was working as a secretary; she'd already resigned once from active duty in the army after a mission in the Amazon to locate several hidden weapons caches had gone south. She'd fallen behind and missed the extraction, and as a result had had to survive on her own in the jungle for ten months.

Her old unit - four of her closest friends, including the best friend she'd ever had, Matches - had volunteered to mount a rescue op. The CO, a man named Goldilocks, turned out to be crooked. He'd shot her buddies, then tortured her into telling him where the caches were and left her to die.

Nomad, at the time codenamed Dynamite, had somehow survived, and found Matches barely clinging to life. With her hands broken and her belly cut open, she'd walked with him dragging behind her in a canvas tarp for two days until she'd been discovered staggering around by a man named Archer - who'd stood by her ever since.

Goldilocks had eventually been caught, but somehow, he'd managed to get off with just seven years in the maximum security facility of Fort Leavenworth. After that, Nomad had changed her codename, started her new job, and tried to start again.

It hadn't really worked. She'd been miserable.

And then Hawk had come to sign her up. He'd given her a second chance.

It had been the best thing that had happened to Nomad in a long, long time.

So it was safe to say that Nomad had baggage. She'd had a little trouble adjusting to life with the Joes at first - after the Amazon, she trusted very few people, preferring to keep to herself. But at the Pit - Joe headquarters, located under the decidedly non-secret Fort Wadsworth Chaplain's assistants' school - it was hard to keep to yourself. The unit was such a tight-knit team, it'd been damn near impossible not to open up and learn to make friends again. …but after a shaky first couple of weeks and an incident or two - and sessions with the resident shrink, Psyche Out - she'd been working through it all.

And then there was Lowlight…

Lowlight, the blonde-haired, blue-eyed sniper with the crooked grin who Nomad…cared for. She still wasn't sure how it'd happened, or why he wanted _her_. She was scarred, both physically and mentally, but somehow Lowlight had seen past all that.

Things had been good, for a little while. Until, during the extraction from a recon job in the rainforests of Sierra Gordo, Lowlight had been shot several times in the chest while providing cover fire for Nomad. The sniper had come very close to death - _had_ died, for a short time.

Thinking about it now, Nomad still didn't know what she'd have done if Lowlight hadn't made it.

As it was, it affected her badly. Nomad, unable to bear the thought of losing more friends, had decided to resign. Again. But even more painful than that; she'd told Lowlight it was over between them.

She'd taken a job as head of security in the same building she'd used to work at, under General Hammond. She had a new apartment, a nice, spacious place in a building with a doorman.

It had always felt too big. She'd got used to sharing a room with Covergirl, the former-model-turned-tank-jockey. She missed seeing the other Joes every day, training, hanging out in the rec room or mess hall, getting ground into the mud by Beachhead, the big, brash Alabaman Army Ranger (and Covergirl's man) at PT.

Hell, she'd even missed the ninjas kicking her ass in hand-to-hand.

* * *

><p>"You missed us?" Storm Shadow asked playfully. "I'll remember that." He was sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her.<p>

"I think it's weirder that she missed Beachhead," Flint replied, grinning.

"Hey, shut up," Nomad retorted, forgetting not only their superior ranks, but also the fact that Hawk was listening, too.

The general cleared his throat.

"Uh…sorry, sir," Nomad said, and got back to the story.

* * *

><p>Two months after resigning, Nomad had been working the night shift; which meant she got to sit on her butt in front of a bank of monitors, watching them in case somebody decided to break into the building. Not exactly exciting. After another night of nothing happening, Nomad walked home. Her apartment wasn't far away.<p>

She'd known something was wrong as soon as she opened the door. Somebody had cut the lights.

Nomad searched the place. She'd been through all the rooms and had just finished in the bedroom when she'd been surprised by Destro - the Scottish arms dealer who often worked with Cobra Commander, the leader of G.I Joe's main adversary, Cobra. He and several troops had been waiting out on the fire escape outside the kitchen window - which she'd forgotten to check.

She hadn't really had a chance; all she was armed with was a steak knife and a ninja knife given to her by Storm and Snake Eyes. The Cobras had guns.

Still, she'd put up a pretty decent fight before Destro had jabbed her with a syringe full of sedative.

The next thing Nomad knew, she was in a cell, chained to the wall. Some time later, a couple of troops had come in to take her somewhere. She got the drop on them both, then managed to take out a whole small unit of Cobras and escape her cell -

* * *

><p>Nomad stopped talking as Storm Shadow made a quiet noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "What?"<p>

"Ten Cobra troops?" Storm Shadow asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

Nomad frowned at him. "Why do you sound so surprised?"

"Because I've _seen_ you in hand-to-hand. You sure it was _ten_?"

"_Yes_, I'm sure," she snapped. "Don't look at me like that. And…I had guns, which were very helpful."

"Ten."

"_Yes_!" Nomad glanced to Hawk for support. None was forthcoming: the general remained silent, studying her intently. He'd shuffled back on the desk - he now had both feet off the floor and was leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

Flint jumped in to defend her. "I heard some of the troops talking when I was in the mess hall at one point. Believe it or not, it _was_ ten."

"_Thank_ you." Nomad turned and gave Storm a self-satisfied 'told-you-so' look.

He waved a hand dismissively. "Alright. Benefit of the doubt." He gave her a wicked smile. "Since you're so good, you can give a demonstration when you're fit enough to train."

"Sure. Give me a gun and I'd be _glad_ to," she said, glaring.

"Nomad," Hawk said firmly.

"Sorry, sir. Got distracted by the ninja. So…after taking out the _ten_ troops…"

* * *

><p>She'd snuck through the basement of the Cobra building, shooting surveillance cameras as she went, trying to avoid the Cobra troops searching for her. It took a long time - she didn't know how many times she backtracked to avoid a pair of blue-suited soldiers.<p>

Her luck hadn't lasted long. She'd been about to bypass the stairs in favour of maybe finding a less obvious escape route when she'd been spotted by the Dreadnoks Buzzer and Ripper. With no other choice, she'd bolted up the stairs and straight into the foyer of the building - where her gun had run out of ammo and Firefly, the Cobra saboteur, had captured her. He'd marched her into the elevator, where Nomad had again tried to escape, causing Ripper some serious knee damage. Again, Firefly had overpowered her, and he'd slammed the butt of his gun into her face.

* * *

><p>Nomad hesitated, a little unsure of how to continue. This was where the story got hard to tell.<p>

But she owed it to them, right? Hawk, Flint, Storm Shadow and the others…they'd all risked their lives to get her.

And didn't she know by now that it was better to talk about these things? She'd tried to keep it bottled up before, and it hadn't gotten her anywhere.

She opened her mouth, thought for a moment, then closed it. Then she tried again; no words came out.

"Take your time," Flint said, but he looked curious. Storm Shadow had his eyes closed, apparently meditating as he listened.

To hell with it. It'd be best if she got it all out now.

* * *

><p>Nomad had woken up, tied to a chair in a dark room. After a while, a Crimson Guardsman had come in and offered her a choice: to give Cobra Commander the location of the Joes headquarters willingly…or to have it tortured out of her.<p>

It was a no brainer. Nomad wasn't going to betray her team.

And so the torture had begun.

It started off small - a glass of water on the table where she could see it, but not get to it. Then the Siegie had started hitting her; that's where all the bruises on her face came from. And the cracked rib. He'd beaten the soles of her feet with a metal rod. The undersides of the feet are, despite the weight they carry every day, one of the most sensitive parts of the body. Nomad had become acutely aware of that.

When that didn't work, the Siegie brought the pliers in and ripped her nails out. It was at that point she'd recognised his voice - when she'd worked as a secretary, Andy had been the chief of security. She'd considered him a friend, one of the very few she had.

He'd been Cobra all along. He'd stolen her files, the ones that had the details of the Amazon mission. He'd already given Destro her personal info, blowing her cover when she'd been in an undercover op posing as a potential Cobra recruit. He'd said the same things Goldilocks had said when he tortured her back then, trying to get to her.

She'd spent three days in that room. After pulling her fingernails, Andy moved onto her toenails, and after that, he'd brought the hammer in and smashed her hands.

When not even that had worked, Andy got impatient. The next time he'd come, he'd brought a knife, and reopened all the scars Goldilocks had given her.

* * *

><p>Nomad stopped. Her hands were shaking in her lap; it took all her strength to still them. She took a deep breath, calming herself.<p>

She glanced around. Flint's face had gone hard; a muscle in his jaw was twitching. Storm Shadow was cursing quietly under his breath. Hawk just looked at her with an expression she was familiar with - she'd used it often herself, when she didn't want anybody to know what she was feeling.

"I died, you know," she said quietly, surprising herself. "The doctor came in and stopped Andy…but I was dead for a minute."

"I didn't know _that_," Storm admitted.

Hawk shifted, straightening up and placing both feet on the floor, leaning his butt against the desk and crossing his arms over his chest. "If you want a break -"

Nomad shook her head quickly. "No, I'm good. I've started now, I have to finish. Sir."

* * *

><p>She went on, describing how she'd escaped from her hospital bed - by spilling a glass of water on herself, so the nurse had to release Nomad's wrists from the restraining straps to get her into a dry gown. Nomad had used anything she could to get away - smacking the nurse in the head with the foldaway table, then strapping her to the bed while she was still dazed and filching a syringe full of sedative from her pocket. After that, she'd boldly made her way through the infirmary, knocking out a couple of wounded troops before they raised the alarm. She'd armed herself with makeshift weapons from the operating room - some scalpels and a pair of scissors and stealing a Cobra uniform. After that, she'd walked through the Cobra building until she'd found the elevator.<p>

Inside the lift, she'd been forced to kill a Cobra Viper after he noticed blood from her popped stitches soaking through her uniform. It hadn't taken long for the body to be found, and the alarm went off. Nomad - wounded and bleeding - had been captured yet again.

This time, Firefly took her straight to Cobra Commander himself. On the way, he'd shot her in the shoulder.

The Commander wasted no time in ordering Nomad to be strapped into the brainwave scanner. He wanted the location of Joe HQ…but there was no way she was willingly giving up the Pit.

The brainwave scanner had almost killed her…again. The device recorded information on brainwave reactions to certain stimuli - in layman's terms, it recorded thoughts. Once a large vocabulary had been recorded, the process was reversed. All it took was one thought, however vague - and the image was projected on a screen for all to see.

There _was_ a way to resist the scanner, though. It was possible to block out the thoughts Cobra Commander wanted to see by thinking of other memories - but they had to be strongly emotional memories.

Which, Nomad was for once glad to say, she had plenty of.

But it hurt. It hurt like hell; Nomad hadn't felt anything like it before. It was different to the physical torture she'd endured. She couldn't decided which was worse.

But she didn't give Cobra anything. It took everything out of her, but she didn't break. Instead, she'd collapsed…

* * *

><p>"…And that's when I saw Storm," Nomad finished, "disguised as a Cobra troop, taking me back to my cell."<p>

Hawk nodded thoughtfully. "You did very well, Nomad. I think I can safely say we're all proud of you - and glad to have you home safe."

"Thank you, sir," she said, feeling her face heat up.

"Just a few more questions," Hawk said. "Before you were taken back to your cell…that was when you heard the Commander and Destro talking about the missiles?"

"Yes, sir," Nomad affirmed. "They thought I was still unconscious. Destro was saying it'd take at least another three months before they were ready." She paused. "But I _was_ still groggy, Hawk. Storm Shadow's report on that would be more trustworthy than mine."

Hawk frowned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Cobra troops stole the neurotoxin formula a few months ago. I wonder why it's taking so long for them to develop it…"

"Destro _did_ say something about the components being a problem," Storm Shadow explained. "But that's as far as he got before the Commander interrupted."

Nomad nodded. "He also said it takes time to develop a missile capable of containing and dispersing the toxin effectively. Sir, maybe if Airtight could -"

Hawk gave her an inscrutable look. "I've already got people working on it," he said. "You don't need to worry about that."

"But I want to know -" She shut her mouth quickly, shrinking back into her chair as Hawk fixed his sharp eyes on her. "Sorry, General," she said meekly. "Uh…so how'd you figure out I was on Cobra Island?"

"Actually, there's not much to it," Flint said, smiling.

"There's not?"

"You have Clutch to thank for it," the warrant officer explained. "I don't know if you remember, but the night before you were captured, he was sending you text messages on his way to a mission?"

Nomad nodded. Clutch had sent her photos of a few of the guys in the back of the Tomahawk helicopter. "Yeah, I remember."

"Well, after he got back, he sent you more," Flint said, rolling his eyes. "Breaker's got the records of them if you want to see them. Anyway, when you didn't answer any of them, Clutch started to suspect that maybe something was wrong."

Storm spoke up, unfolding his long legs and standing, leaning against Hawk's desk. "We all thought maybe you were just ignoring him, or had your phone turned off, or something," he admitted. "Clutch just wouldn't believe it. Said you _always_ replied."

"He had his phone in his hand all day," Flint continued. "Except for when Beach took it away…but apart from PT, I don't think I saw him without it."

Nomad smiled. Good ol' Clutch. He might be annoying at times - well, _most _of the time - but somehow, he was one of her closest friends.

Why hadn't he told her _he_ was the one who'd realised she might've been in trouble? It wasn't like Clutch to pass up bragging rights. She'd have to ask him about that…

Flint went on. "He came to me later that night and told me he thought something was up. We both tried to get in contact with you, but all our calls went straight to voicemail. Clutch was pretty certain by then that something was up."

Flint paused, adjusting his beret and not meeting Nomad's eyes. "I hate to admit it, but I thought he was just being paranoid. I told him you probably just had your phone turned off for work. Nomad, if I'd -"

She shook her head. "How could you've known?" she asked with a dismissive shrug of her good shoulder. "Don't worry about it, Flint. You did what you could. What happened then?"

"I got a phone call," Hawk said, "from General Hammond, asking if you'd been in touch. He was worried - you hadn't showed up for work, and you hadn't called in sick. You weren't answering your cell. He said it wasn't like you; in all the time you'd worked for him, you'd never just not shown up."

Storm nodded. "He had me and Flint head over to your apartment immediately."

Flint chuckled. "And Clutch insisted on driving us there himself."

"Not a bad apartment you scored for yourself, either," Storm Shadow decided. "Except for the big bloodstain on the carpet from the troop you killed - and the hole in the wall where your steak knife got stuck. Oh, and speaking of knives…"

Nomad sat up straighter as the ninja reached into a pocket and pulled out the sharp knife he and some of the Joes had pitched in to get her for her birthday a few months ago. She'd lost it in the short fight with the Cobra troops in her apartment - Storm Shadow now handed it back to her, complete with the custom-made leather sheath that allowed her to strap the knife to her forearm. She hadn't known where that had gone; the first time she'd woken up on Cobra Island, it had been missing.

She forgot herself and went to grab the knife eagerly, only to see her busted up fingers. She sighed and scowled. Storm Shadow gave a small smile and put the knife in her lap. "Thought you might like it back."

"Thanks, Stormy."

"Don't lose it again."

She stuck her tongue out at him playfully. "Okay, so you knew I was in trouble," she pressed. "What then? How'd you know it was Cobra?"

"You're a Joe," Hawk said bluntly. "Could anyone _else_ get the drop on you?"

Nomad was a little flattered, and she gave Storm Shadow a significant look. "At least _Hawk_ thinks I can look after myself," she muttered.

Both Storm and Hawk ignored her. "What we didn't know was whether you were alive or not," Hawk went on. "As Storm said, there was a big bloodstain on the carpet - we didn't know if it was yours or not, until we had Doc compare it to a sample of yours. Of course, it wasn't a match. So, now that we knew you were still alive, we had to find you, and we had to find you quickly."

Hawk didn't say anything else, but Nomad understood. What he _hadn't_ said was, 'We had to find you quickly, before Cobra got any intel out of you'.

"It was Mainframe who finally got the break. Using some of the information we got from the computers at the base in Guatemala, he hacked into the Cobra Consulate servers and found a report detailing the 'capture and immediate imprisonment of a known enemy'. Unfortunately, that's _all_ we got - the firewall got us - but it was enough to tell us that you were being held on Cobra Island. Again, we still have that on file if you'd like to read it."

Read about her own capture, as told from Cobra's point of view? Nomad wasn't sure about that. "Uh…maybe in a few days, sir. What happened next?"

The general allowed himself a rare smile. "I asked for volunteers to mount a rescue mission. I think it went pretty well."

"Me too, sir," Nomad agreed. Then she paused, feeling that it wasn't enough. "Uh…thanks for not leaving me there. I don't think I would've lasted much longer if…well…yeah."

God, that sounded so lame…way to go, Nomad.

"We look after our own," Hawk said simply.

She'd heard those words before. "I know, sir. I haven't forgotten."

Hawk glanced at his watch. Nomad caught a quick upside-down glimpse of the face - it was close to 3.00. "Do you have any other questions?"

Nomad thought for a moment. "No, sir. I'm sure I'll hear the story of the big rescue from the other guys, anyway."

"I'm sure you will," Hawk said wryly, standing up. "Alright. Dismissed, all of you. Oh, Nomad?"

"Sir?"

"Take it easy. And don't be too hard on Lifeline."

She grinned and threw an awkward salute. "Yes, sir."

Hawk sat at his desk, pulling a pile of paperwork out of the top drawer as Flint pushed Nomad's wheelchair to the door. Storm put a hand on Nomad's shoulder and nodded to her as he went ahead of them, disappearing down the corridor without a sound.

"So," the warrant officer asked, leaning down and looking sideways at her. "I _know_ Lifeline said to go straight back to the infirmary…"

Nomad groaned.

"So, how about you and me go see who's in the mess hall?"


	3. Chapter 3

Finally! I got another chapter done!

Argh...I got majorly stuck writing this one. Have to thank blackrosewitch for giving me the way to get Lowlight into this one - her idea was the one that got me UNstuck. Hope you like how it turned out! And huge thanks to everyone who PM'd and reviewed and for all the sympathy; you guys quite often made my day! :D :D :D

Anyway, this chapter's mainly getting Nomad back among the Joes...next chapter'll see her recovering (conveniently quickly :D) and maybe some more actual plot! ...yeah...plot would be nice. I have a few ideas...but not many concerning an actual storyline, heh heh. I think I'll just see where this takes me...it worked for the last one :P

* * *

><p>Flint shoved open the door and wheeled Nomad into the mess hall. Typically, nobody looked up - the doors in here were always opening and closing as Joes came and went. At the moment, there weren't many people seated around the tables in the big room - only a few small groups here and there, grabbing a quick bite between training sessions or just hanging out. Nomad couldn't tell - her mental schedule was all messed up after being away for so long.<p>

Behind the food prep bench on the other side of the room, a remarkably short woman with shaggy red hair was arguing with an incredibly large, bald black man who looked like he could snap her in two with his bare hands. Despite the fact that the man towered over her - the top of her head didn't even reach his shoulders - she looked like she was winning the fight.

"Think we should save Roadblock?" Flint asked. Nomad didn't need to look up to know he was smirking.

"Well…I always get a kick out of seeing Jeckle walk all over him," she admitted, "but go on."

Flint cleared his throat theatrically and spoke loudly. "So, _Nomad_…"

The mess hall went quiet as just about every pair of eyes in the room fixed on her. Even the burly older man in the floppy white hat and blue sweater, sitting alone hunched over his plate at the far end of the hall, looked up. Underneath the bruises on her face, Nomad blushed bright red. She shifted, uncomfortable with being the centre of attention - which was normal, for her, but her…condition…made it all the worse.

Fortunately, nobody else seemed to care what she looked like.

"Nomad!" Jeckle literally leaped over the bench and hurried over, yanking her apron over her head and tossing it away. She bumped Flint aside unceremoniously and commandeered Nomad's wheelchair, pushing it (at a much faster speed than Lifeline and Flint had) over to the counter. "You're on my side, right?"

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Uh -"

"Course you are," Jeckle interrupted brightly. She jerked her thumb at Roadblock. "So tell this oversized turkey that chocolate is best with _peanut butter_, not strawberries."

Nomad stared.

"What? Hell, you could say _anything_ right now and nobody would correct you," Jeckle pointed out with a cheeky grin. "Well…maybe not quite _anything_…and maybe not quite _nobody_. Depends on who you were talking to, and about what. Anyway, which is it?"

Nomad thought about it, then gave an apologetic half-shrug. "Sorry, Roadblock, but why ruin good chocolate with fruit? Peanut butter all the way."

Roadblock - the Joes' mountainous heavy gunner and gourmet chef - sighed and shook his head in exasperation. Jeckle pointed at him and gave a triumphant laugh. "Hah! Told you so!"

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbled half-heartedly, taking a swipe at Jeckle's head.

Nomad watched the two, rolling her eyes. "And to think I actually _missed_ this place. Uh…why exactly were you arguing about chocolate?"

"Tonight's dessert," Jeckle answered promptly. "You just decided for us; chocolate and peanut butter slice. Hey, I'll bring you some later."

Nomad pulled a face. "I don't think Lifeline'd let me have any. You know how he is."

"Alright, I'll _sneak_ you some," Jeckle said slyly, rocking the wheelchair back and forth. "He'll never suspect a thing."

Nomad gave a snort. "Oh, sure. Because you're _never_ up to anything suspicious."

"Me? Course not."

Roadblock grabbed Jeckle's wrist and stopped her rocking the wheelchair. Nomad gave him a grateful look - he beamed back. "Lifeline knows how much you like chocolate," he pointed out. "He'll let you have some."

"Oh, yeah? He knew how much I like coffee and he made me cut down," she replied. "Speaking of coffee…"

"No," Flint interrupted firmly.

"But -"

"Lifeline'd kill…well, _ask_ somebody to kill me if I let you drink anything other than water."

Nomad scowled at the warrant officer. "And here I was, thinking you were fun."

"I _am_ fun. I'm _not_ stupid."

A voice called out from behind them. "Hey, would you guys stop hoggin' the invalid?"

Jeckle groaned and turned the wheelchair around. "Nice, Shipwreck," she said dryly. "Real nice."

The scruffy-looking sailor winked mischievously at them as Jeckle parked the wheelchair at the table. He ducked as she cuffed him across the back of the head, knocking his ever-present sailor hat off. "Aw, don't look at me like that," he protested. "She don't mind. Right, Nomad?"

"I've heard it all before," she agreed with a nod. She honestly couldn't have cared less - she was just happy to be back amongst friends.

After she'd resigned, Nomad had been pretty sure she'd never see the inside of the Pit again. During the last week, toward the end, she'd become absolutely certain she wouldn't. So, when she woke up in the infirmary the first time - not long after being wheeled in on a gurney - it had been a shock to see the familiar walls around her. At that point, she'd still been groggy - she'd spent most of the plane trip back from the Island knocked out by painkillers.

Nomad barely remembered anything after being busted out of her cell by Storm Shadow and Flint - it was all a blur of blood and gunfire.

At first, she'd refused to believe she was actually home in the Pit; it had to be some kind of Cobra trick. But then Doc had leaned over her, smiling and brushing the tangled hair from her eyes. She'd closed her eyes and gone straight back to sleep. Doc told her later that he, Lifeline, and some of the greenshirts had been keeping an eye on her in case she 'woke up and flipped out'. The infirmary beds _did_ have restraints, but Psyche Out had advised against using them.

Speaking of the infirmary…Lifeline was going to have a fit if she didn't get back soon.

Oh well. Too bad.

"So, how're you feelin'?" Dusty asked, resting his elbows on the table. The desert trooper's honest, open face - for once not covered in smears of camouflage paint - was full of concern.

Nomad opened her mouth, then stopped, thinking better of trying to convince them all she was fine. She'd learned her lesson from Hawk already this morning. By now, most of the Joes would know what had happened on Cobra Island - and in any case, she still had the bruises and wounds to show it. There was no point trying to convince them she wasn't hurting. "I'll be okay, Dusty," she said instead, giving him a small grin. "Don't worry about me."

Dusty's expression darkened as he looked her over. "If I ever get my hands on them bastards…" he growled.

Nomad had never been on a mission with Dusty. She'd never seen him in anything other than good spirits. Here at the Pit, even during the most difficult PT sessions Beachhead had put them through, the man usually had a good-natured grin on his face. Now, though, if his expression was any indication, she had a feeling that the easy-going desert trooper - who was ironically also a qualified refrigerator repairman - could be scary if he got angry.

"You'll have to wait in line," she said, keeping her voice light. "Or get past _me_, at least."

"I know someone _else_ they'll have to get past," Shipwreck muttered, glancing sideways at Nomad.

Dusty chuckled, the thunderous expression instantly gone. "Good point."

Jeckle leaned down and tapped Nomad's good shoulder. "I gotta get back to making dinner," she said reluctantly. "Otherwise we'll have a whole heap of hungry hungry hippos on our hands, which is _never_ good."

"You callin' me a hippo?" Shipwreck asked indignantly.

"Yep." Jeckle sniggered, waving her hand dismissively at him, then she looked back at Nomad. "Hey…I'm really glad you're back. We all are, you know. Tell you what, even Shorty over there was kinda worried about you."

Nomad raised an eyebrow at the blond man sitting at another table not far away, cleaning his glasses. It was a well known fact that she and Short Fuse didn't get along - both of them were quick-tempered and stubborn, and if they were ever paired together for training, they butted heads constantly. They generally tried to avoid each other, but sometimes it couldn't be helped.

Actually, seemed like it _mostly_ couldn't be helped during hand-to-hand, especially when Storm Shadow was taking the session. She was certain the damn ninja smartass thought it was amusing to watch her and Short Fuse trying to beat each other into the mats.

Short Fuse gave her short nod. She returned it…and that was as far as the civility would go. Short Fuse went back to huffing on his glasses, and Nomad turned back to the others.

Jeckle rolled her eyes. "I'll bring you something good to eat later, okay? I'll go spook on Lifeline. He won't even know I'm there."

Dusty snorted. "You'll get caught as soon as you walk in the door."

"…Shut up."

Nomad giggled, then winced, then waved her hands at the other Joes as they all leaned towards her, worried. She would've found their concern funny, if it didn't hurt so much to laugh. "Thanks, Jeck," Nomad said.

The other woman went to clap Nomad on the shoulder. She braced herself, but Jeckle remembered at the last moment and gave her a thumbs up instead.

"Wait a sec. You gonna bring me somethin' good, too?" Shipwreck asked, grabbing Jeckle's hands and putting on an innocent look that fooled nobody.

"Fuck off."

"That'll about do it."

"'_Wreck_." With an exasperated shake of her head, Jeckle headed back to the food prep bench, where she immediately started ribbing Roadblock again.

"Well," Nomad said, glancing around at Shipwreck and Dusty. "She hasn't learned to shut up, has she?"

"She wouldn't be Jeckle if she knew how to shut up," Flint said, taking a seat beside Nomad.

"Good point."

"You _know_ I can hear you from over here, right?"

* * *

><p>For the next hour and a half, Nomad sat at the table, catching up on the Pit gossip. There was always something going on in the Pit - whether it was new greenshirts, washed out greenshirts, missions, or Beachhead's latest obstacle course. Too often, it was a combination of the three: a lot of greenies arrived unprepared for the intense Joe training program. The latest batch had apparently been relatively successful so far, but still had a lot of improving to do.<p>

Kismet had only barely passed the fitness program, which may have been the reason for the lack of self-confidence. Beachhead had probably been hard on her, and that could drain _anyone's_ confidence.

There were two others (out of the eight who'd made it so far) who'd already been given codenames, and they weren't quite as flattering as Kismet's. There was Lockjaw, given his handle because everyone wished he'd stop talking; and Atlas, named after the mythological Greek Titan not because he was _strong _enough to carry heaven's weight on his shoulders, but because he was so gloomy it _seemed_ like he carried that weight.

Nomad was secretly glad she'd never had to do the greenshirt training; all she'd had to do was a fitness test and the medicals, thanks to her good service record.

She was also glad - make that _very_ glad - she'd already had a codename before she signed up. God knew what these guys would've come up with for her.

The group around the table changed and grew bigger as more Joes entered the mess hall and noticed that Nomad was awake. Dusty had to head off for training, and was replaced by Wetsuit. When Shipwreck had to leave, his seat was taken for a few minutes by Tunnel Rat.

Spirit came over to say a quick hello and welcome back, then offered his knowledge of natural remedies to help with the healing process. She was unsure whether the Native American man was serious or not, so she evaded by saying she'd have to ask Lifeline first. Nomad didn't know the Native American man all that well; they'd been on one mission together, but had been in different units, and she'd never really spent much time around him.

Deep Six almost snuck by her without saying a word. She spotted his broad back heading for the door and called out to him.

He turned reluctantly.

"Don't I even get a welcome back hug?"

He looked at her impassively.

"Come on," she teased. "You know you want to."

After a moment, he sighed. "Good to have you back," he said bluntly.

Satisfied, Nomad grinned at him. "I'll talk to you later then, huh?"

Deep Six turned and strode away. Nomad shook her head slightly, still smiling. A lot of the guys didn't think much of Deep Six. He was good at his job - hell, he was the _best_, otherwise he wouldn't be a Joe - but he came across as pretty cold.

Nomad liked him, though…when she'd first arrived at the Pit, she'd been quiet, still trying to get over her problems. He'd put up with her, let her hang around as long as she was quiet, and she genuinely considered him a friend. She was pretty sure he didn't mind her, either.

Flint chuckled. "Look, Nomad, I've got to go change this bandage," he said, holding out his tightly-bandaged forearm; yet another wound dealt by Cobra in Nomad's rescue mission. "I'll be back in a few minutes, alright?"

"What are you, my mother?" she retorted.

"No, but if you go MIA on my watch, Lifeline'll have my head."

"Good point," she conceded. "Well, I'm not going anywhere on my own."

Flint gave her a knowing look. "Yeah, well…don't convince anyone to take you anywhere, either."

"Would I do that?"

"Yes. Yes, you would." The warrant officer looked around at the table in general. "_Don't_ let her go anywhere."

Nomad groaned. "Dammit, it's almost like I'm a prisoner again," she joked.

Flint's seat was immediately taken by Rock 'n' Roll, the big, hairy blonde surfer dude from Malibu. His t-shirt - a concert tour t-shirt by some band she'd never heard of - was covered in grease.

Nomad caught a whiff of the familiar smell of diesel fuel and grinned. She'd missed that smell, even if at the moment it made her feel a little nauseous.

"So, you're back for good?" he asked eagerly.

Nomad nodded. "Once I'm fighting fit again, I'm back on the job."

"Good. Me an' Clutch missed ya hangin' round the garage," Rock 'n' Roll admitted. He looked at her for a long time. "So…did they really open up your old - ow!"

Rock 'n' Roll glared across the table at Wetsuit, who'd apparently just kicked him. "What?"

"What the hell kinda question's that?" the curly-haired Navy SEAL snarled.

Nomad felt a rush of gratitude for Wetsuit. For somebody who was supposed to be the meanest of the mean, he was a good guy.

Still, she thought she should probably defend Rock 'n' Roll. "It's okay," she said, waving a broken hand and then wishing she hadn't. They were starting to throb badly - she'd been away from the infirmary and the painkillers for a few hours now. "I don't mind."

Surprising herself a little, Nomad found it was true. Of course, she didn't look forward to answering questions about what had happened on Cobra Island…nobody would _willingly_ want to relive that. But these were her friends. She _could_ say she didn't want to talk about it, and they'd leave her alone, but they'd find out anyway, and Nomad wanted them to find out from _her_.

Not only that, but she knew what happened if you kept shit like that inside. It ate at you, like a worm in an apple. Nomad knew all about that, and she wasn't - she _wasn't_ - going back there.

And if she _did_, there were several people at the Pit who'd be glad to beat some sense into her.

"They - Andy, the interrogator -"

"Wait a sec. Andy, as in the guy you used to work with?" Rock 'n' Roll asked in disbelief.

Nomad nodded. "Yeah. He…well, he pretty much did what -" Dammit. She still couldn't say the name. "He opened up all my old scars, yeah," she finished quickly. Luckily, nobody seemed to notice the hasty cover up.

Rock 'n' Roll took his cap off and wrung it fiercely. "Son of a bitch."

"That's what I said." Nomad shrugged. "Hey -"

She was interrupted by a loud bark. Suddenly, a large furry head with a long pink tongue was right beside hers, panting in her face and slobbering all over her, paws propped on the arm of the wheelchair.

"Junkyard! Down!"

The Rottweiler whined as his master grabbed him by the collar and hauled him off. "Sorry, Nomad. Guess he missed you," Mutt said. The mask he wore - it actually looked like a muzzle - dangled from his other hand. Junkyard's paws scrabbled at the tiled floor of the mess hall as he tried to get back to Nomad.

"Junk! Sit!" Mutt ordered.

The dog plopped down on his hindquarters, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth.

"Aw…didja miss me, Junk?" Nomad asked. "Huh? Didja miss me? Come on, Mutt, bring him closer so I can say hi."

Casting a doubtful glance at her, Mutt pointed to the floor beside the left wheel of the wheelchair. "Here, Junk. Uh uh! Take it easy!"

Junkyard bounded forward. Nomad gingerly put her hand over and rubbed the top of the dog's head with her wrist. "Aw, you're a good boy, aren't ya? Huh? You a good boy? Yeah, you are."

"Alright, stop spoiling him," Mutt said, grabbing a handful of treats from his pocket. He scratched Junk behind the ears. Nomad smiled; Mutt looked rough, and he spoke gruffly, but he loved that dog.

"Speaking of spoiling things…"

She looked up to see Storm Shadow, Snake Eyes in his full black outfit, and the red-headed beauty Scarlett approaching. Snake Eyes waved jauntily at her. Scarlett was smiling ear-to-ear.

Nomad rolled her eyes. "You do kinda spoil the mood, Storm," she retorted.

"Funny," Storm Shadow said, looking at her as he sat down. "Actually, I was talking about Lifeline. He's coming, and he's looking for you. If you don't want to be dragged back to the infirmary, I suggest you vanish."

Dammit…the medic was going to confine her to a bed again, for who knew how long. Nomad glanced around pleadingly. "Guys…help me out, here, I don't want to go back just yet. Please?"

Snakes and Storm glanced at each other. Snake Eyes' hands moved quickly, signing the words he couldn't speak. *Think we could buy her some time?*

Storm smirked. "Will it piss the medic off?"

*Most likely.*

"I'm in." Storm raised an eyebrow at Nomad. "This is another one you owe me."

"Put it on my tab."

Scarlett laughed. "You shouldn't encourage them, Nomad."

"It's not like I -"

Storm Shadow interrupted. "You'd better make it quick. I can hear him."

Nomad frowned. Surely he couldn't hear Lifeline outside from all the way over here, over the mess hall noise?

"I can," Storm said patiently, catching her doubtful expression. "'Ear that sees', remember?"

"Uh…right."

"Hey, over here!" Jeckle called, waving Nomad over to the food prep counter.

Before she could ask, Snake Eyes released the wheelchair brakes and pushed Nomad behind the counter. Sitting in the wheelchair, Nomad's eyes were only just level with the top of the bench.

Jeckle grabbed Roadblock's arm and dragged him over, planting him in front of Nomad. The big man's bulk blocked her from sight. "Stay there," Jeckle ordered. Nomad wasn't quite sure if the short woman was talking to her or to the heavy gunner.

Nomad heard the mess hall door open. Jeckle leaned casually on the counter. "Hey, Lifeline!"

When the medic spoke, he sounded annoyed. "Hi, Jeckle."

"What brings you to my kitchen?"

Roadblock cleared his throat.

"_Our_ kitchen," Jeckle amended quickly, giggling.

Nomad couldn't see him - all she could see was Roadblock's back - but she heard the medic sigh impatiently. "I'm looking for Nomad," he explained. "Has anyone in here seen her?"

There was a general mutter of vague 'no's. Nomad grinned, imagining the unconvinced look that was probably crossing Lifeline's face right about now.

"Nomad's awake?" Scarlett asked. "Can we go see her? You're letting her have visitors now, right?"

"Huh. _Yes_, she's awake. _No_, you can't go see her - because she never came back to the infirmary after her debrief," Lifeline answered waspishly. "And I _told _Flint to bring her straight back."

Oh, the medic was not going to be happy when she finally got back to the infirmary.

"Have you checked her room?" Rock 'n' Roll suggested. "Maybe she's there."

Nomad heard Lifeline sigh again. "Maybe. Look, if you see her, tell her I want her butt back in the infirmary _now_. I don't care if she doesn't like it, she's wounded and she needs rest."

She felt a sudden pang of guilt. Lifeline was just looking out for her, after all…

But she hated the infirmary. She didn't want to back and lie in a bed all day until her back started hurting. Hell, she wouldn't even be able to change positions without help - she couldn't even change the channel on the TV remote without her hands killing her.

"Aw, you know what she's like," Rock 'n' Roll said. "Can't keep her in one place too -"

"I can if I strap her to the damned bed," came the dark reply.

"If we see her, we'll tell her," Scarlett said quickly. "C'mon, I'll help you look. Let's go check the rec room first."

"Right," Lifeline answered distractedly. "And tell her she's lucky I don't like violence, otherwise I'd give her a smack upside the head."

"I can do that for you," Storm said. Of course, he sounded like he was smiling.

Damn ninja.

Nomad could almost imagine the look on Lifeline's face as he walked out of the mess hall.

Jeckle turned. "Hah! It worked! The medic has been duped." She paused. "You know, I feel a little bad. Poor Lifeline's always copping a hard time."

Nomad laughed. "He's a medic, he should be used to it by now."

"True." Jeckle looked around suddenly. "Oh. Oh, good _timing_," she said quietly. "Snakes, get over there and distract him."

The ninja - leaning against the other side of the bench - poked his head around Roadblock to look at Nomad. Although she couldn't see his scarred face under the intimidating black mask and visor he almost always wore, she got the distinct feeling he was smiling.

Nomad looked from Snakes to Jeckle, puzzled. "What's good timing? Distract who?"

The other woman grinned, watching Snake Eyes as he shoved off the bench and strode away to somebody Nomad couldn't see, then turned and grabbed the wheelchair handles. "You'll see," she said cryptically.

Nomad did indeed see. As Jeckle wheeled her past the counter, Nomad saw a familiar figure standing at the table, talking to Snake Eyes and Storm Shadow. Her breath caught in her throat as she gazed at the dusky blue uniform, the beanie covering the curly blond hair, the sniper rifle held easily in one hand, like it was part of him.

Lowlight's back was to her. He didn't know she was in the mess hall.

Nomad's heart was beating rapidly. It was irrational - she shouldn't be this nervous to see him. Should she?

Snake Eyes put his hands on the sniper's shoulders and spun him around. Lowlight went to turn back, confused - then he registered who was sitting in front of him.

"Uh…hey," Nomad said hesitantly.

Snake Eyes took the rifle from Lowlight's hand. The sniper just looked at Nomad, his blue eyes flicking over her broken hands, the bruises and cuts on her face.

Snakes gave the blonde man a gentle shove forward.

"Nomad…" Lowlight said finally, and then he glanced around.

Suddenly, all the Joes in the mess hall seemed very preoccupied. The talk grew louder very quickly.

She shifted uncomfortably. "So -"

Lowlight moved toward her, reaching for the chair. "Let's go for a walk."

"…Sure."

* * *

><p>Lowlight pushed the damned wheelchair across the grounds of the Fort Wadsworth motor pool, toward the firing range. Neither of them spoke - the silence wasn't uncomfortable…but it was a little awkward.<p>

The last time Nomad had seen Lowlight had been in the C-130, flying home from Cobra Island. It was only a vague recollection - she'd been tired and in a pretty decent amount of pain. She remembered feeling safe with his arms around her; his face had been the last she'd seen before falling asleep.

They'd talked, hadn't they? They must have…there was something in his eyes when he looked at her now. Something important…Nomad frowned, trying to remember what it was. She _must_ have said something…but all she could think of was the way she'd told him it was over, not long before she'd resigned. They'd hardly spoken since then, apart from the uneasy goodbye they'd exchanged the day she'd actually left.

"…you thinking?"

Nomad started. "Huh?" she asked.

They'd stopped. Lowlight had brought them to the big tree near the edge of the firing range, the one he usually waited under when he had troops in the trenches.

"I asked what you were thinking," Lowlight repeated, watching her carefully. It was as if he thought she might try to roll herself away.

She shrugged her good shoulder. "Nothing," she said lamely.

Lowlight sat down, leaning back against the tree trunk. "Liar," he said quietly.

Dammit…he'd always been able to see right through her. Still, he let it drop, and they sat in silence for a bit longer.

"So -" Nomad began.

"Nomad -" Lowlight said at the same time.

Awkward. Nomad bit her lip and gestured for him to go first.

The sniper gazed intently at her. "Are you gonna be okay?" he asked bluntly.

She gave another half shrug. "Yeah," she said. "It'll take a few weeks for my fingers to -"

"That's not what I mean," Lowlight interrupted.

Nomad opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure of what to say. "Uh…what -"

"I mean with what happened. How they…" He trailed off and gestured to her belly.

Nomad understood. She suddenly wanted to reach out to him, to run her fingers through his hair…

No. Stop that.

She took a deep breath, both quelling the feeling of longing and giving herself time to think. "It's…I don't know," she admitted. "I think so. You know, it's weird; when I was there, I kinda…I think I finally realised that my old team, how they…how they died; it really _wasn't_ my fault."

Lowlight gave her his lopsided grin. "That's what we've been trying to tell you all along."

God, why did her heart start fluttering when he looked at her like that? It _couldn't_ be healthy…

"I _knew _it," Nomad pointed out. "I just…couldn't accept it. It's hard to explain; I'm no Psyche Out."

Lowlight chuckled, then went quiet. "So…what do you remember?"

"Not much. It's all hazy. I was pretty out of it near the end there," she admitted. "All that was keeping me going was adrenalin."

"Do you remember catching me?"

Nomad shook her head. "Catching you?"

Lowlight nodded, his blue eyes shining. "The VAMP was being winched onto the C-130. I was standing on the hood and lost my balance. I would've hit the ground if you hadn't grabbed me."

Well. She hadn't heard _that_ before. She snorted. "You mean I totally saved your ass and I don't even remember it? Typical."

The sniper pushed himself away from the tree and drew closer to her, leaning over her legs, his hands on the wheelchair's armrests. "Do you remember what you asked me?"

He was too close…oh, if he didn't back away soon…

"N -" Nomad's voice caught; she cleared her throat and tried again. "No. Uh…it wasn't...anything embarrassing, was it?"

Lowlight ducked his head forward and softly kissed the right corner of her mouth - about the only part of her face that wasn't bruised or cut. "You asked me if we could start again."

God, she wanted him. She wanted him so badly she ached in a way that had nothing to do with her wounds. The thought of his body pressing against hers, his comforting weight on top of her, the way his breathing sharpened and he moaned her name when he was close - it sent a warm, pleasant tingle running through her.

But she shouldn't be thinking like that. Not in the state she was in.

She tipped her head up anyway, leaning forward slightly, wanting more. "And what did you say?" she asked. Her lips brushed against his with each word.

Lowlight lifted a hand to her face and gently pushed her back. "Nomad -"

"Oh." She looked down, blushing. Of course he wouldn't want her. Not when she looked like this. "Sorry -"

He looked at her sternly. "I know what you're thinking, and you can just stop it. That's _not_ what I meant," he said. "I want you, Nomad. If you want to start again, we'll start again."

Say what? She met his gaze. "Even…" She gestured hopelessly to her injuries.

Lowlight rolled his eyes. "You never learn, do you?" he asked with a small grin.

"But…Coop, I'm -" Nomad shook her head, frustrated. She didn't know what she was trying to say - Lowlight had said he wanted her, why should she be trying to convince him otherwise?

In any case, she couldn't have thought of the right words anyway. She forgot what she was thinking as Lowlight leaned forward and kissed her again, this time placing a hand on the back of her neck and holding her tightly. "If I could do what I want to do to you right now…" he murmured in her ear. His hand slid lightly along her neck, down her side and came to rest at the top of her thigh.

She blushed even brighter. "_Cooper_."

Grinning, he pulled away. "I'll hold onto that thought," he said.

Nomad hesitated. But she had to ask. "Did you mean it? About…starting again?"

He nodded. "If you still want to."

She smiled. "Oh, I want to," she said playfully. Then her expression turned serious again. "Hey, Coop? Um...thanks for coming after me."

"You said _that_ on the plane, too," he told her.

"Did I?"

Lowlight smiled. "Yep. And I'll tell you again: I'll always come after you."

* * *

><p>"Do you <em>know<em> how long I've been looking for you?"

Nomad glanced up, startled, as Lowlight rolled the wheelchair into her curtained-off cubicle in the infirmary. Lifeline stepped away from the bed, glaring at both her and the sniper.

"Uh…hi, Lifeline," she said. "I've just been out catching up with everyone, and -"

"The debrief finished two hours ago. You were supposed to come straight back here."

Nomad rolled her eyes. "Come _on_, PIA, give me a break! You _know _I hate -"

"I don't care. Nomad, you need to give yourself time to recover. You should _know_ that, you've had these kinds of injuries before." The medic crossed his arms over his chest - not a very intimidating gesture, as Lifeline was one of the smaller Joes. However, the look he was giving her was enough to make her doubt his pacifistic ways right now.

"Yeah, but last time my guts were practically hanging out before I got medical attention," she pointed out, ignoring Lowlight's wince. "It's not as bad this time; trust me, I know."

Lifeline's jaw clenched. "Are _you_ a medic?"

"Well…no. But hey, at least I didn't get out of the chair," Nomad said hopefully, trying to assuage him.

It didn't work. He wasn't happy. He wasn't happy at _all_.

There was nothing else for it. "Uh…sorry, Lifeline," she said bashfully. "I promise I won't do it again."

He tried to keep his glare up, but failed. He sighed and flapped his hands hopelessly. "Guess that's what I get for leaving you with Flint and Storm Shadow," he said, shaking his head. "You know, I've been running around all over the place."

Nomad sniggered. "Yeah…I kind of asked the guys to run interference for me."

Lifeline closed his eyes for a moment, running a hand over his face and through his mop of dark hair. "Sometimes I don't know why I bother…alright, back into bed. No, I mean it. Don't _make_ me sedate you."

Nomad thought she'd better do as she was told, and allowed Lifeline and Lowlight to help her into the hospital bed.

Once she was comfortable, Lifeline gave her a dose of painkillers. She wasn't about to admit it, but her whole body was aching - from the bruises on her face all the way down to the bruises on her feet. And, even though she hadn't felt tired before, as soon as she was lying back on the mattress, her eyelids began to droop.

"Let's go," Lifeline said quietly, tapping Lowlight's shoulder.

"PIA?" Nomad asked wearily.

"Yeah?"

"Can he stay? Just for a little while?"

Lifeline glanced from her to the sniper standing beside him. "Oh…well, alright. And tomorrow, we'll see about letting some visitors in."

Nomad smiled. "Thanks, Lifeline."

He grinned back at her. "Don't thank me. It's just because I can't handle you complaining anymore. You know, you're one of the worst patients I've ever had."

She giggled. "Thanks."

The red-clad medic rolled his eyes. "That wasn't a compliment," he pointed out. "If you need anything…"

Nomad nodded, all of a sudden too tired to do anything else. Lifeline quietly took his leave after muttering something in Lowlight's ear. The blonde man nodded, then returned his attention to Nomad.

She fell asleep to him gently running his thumb over the back of her wrist.

For the first time since she'd been back at the Pit, she slept soundly.


	4. Chapter 4

Okay...not quite the chapter I'd intended. Once again, not much happens in this one, except for a little bit more Nomad recovery-and-angst time and Lowlight sap. Sorry...I promise, next chapter will involve a few more Joes (and more Lowlight and Nomad mush! Apologies in advance!) and some leave time in Hawaii!

Oh, and maybe that little bit of plot I mentioned last chapter...heh heh...I'm getting to it :P

So, once again thanks for the reviews, the PMs and putting up with me in general! :D

* * *

><p>"Aww…she looks so sweet when she's asleep."<p>

"She's droolin'. What's so damned sweet 'bout that?"

Nomad opened one eye to see a tall, absolutely stunning blonde woman punching the arm of an even taller, extremely solid man with dark hair and fierce brown eyes. "You really know how to make a girl feel special, Beachhead," she said, grinning wryly.

"Ah'll show you special, wiseass." Pulling a face, he thrust his hand out toward her. "Here. Courtney made me buy this for you."

Nomad grinned when she saw the fluffy blue teddy bear clutched in the big Ranger's hand. "Aw…how adorable."

Courtney Krieger, the ex-model-turned-tank-jockey - codenamed Covergirl, for obvious reasons - sniggered. "I wanted him to get you the pink one, but he wouldn't."

"It's bad enough Ah had to follow you 'round shoppin' all day carryin' that thing," Beachhead complained. "Ain't no way Ah was carryin' a _pink_ bear." He paused and ran a hand through his hair, looking uncomfortable. "Look, Ah got greenshirts to beat inta shape. Reckon Ah'll get Renson today."

Nomad stared. She didn't know who Renson was, but Beachhead's tone made it clear - either the greenshirt washed out or he got kicked out. "Nice, Beach."

The sergeant major gave her an impatient look. "Kid's a smartass, thinks he's better'n everyone else," he pointed out. "Plus, he don't talk to the female soldiers right."

"Ah." Nomad - in fact, most women in the armed forces - knew the type of guy Beachhead was talking about.

The Ranger nodded. "Li'l bastard almost had Kismet in tears yesterday. Ah mean, ain't like that's unusual: girl's still too soft -"

Covergirl hushed Beach, gesturing to the curtain. Beach rolled his eyes, but lowered his voice. Slightly. "Anyway, Joe don't need guys like Renson."

"Well, in that case, make sure he bounces on his way out," Nomad said matter-of-factly.

Beachhead gave a malicious smirk that was actually a little frightening, then turned to leave.

"See you at lunch?" Covergirl asked.

He turned, glancing briefly at Nomad as if he didn't like Covergirl sharing their plans in front of her. "Sure, whatever," he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. "An' _you_," he added, pointing at Nomad, "_you_ just better rest up. You're gonna need it, coz Ah ain't gonna take it easy on you when you get off your lazy bed-bound ass an' back to PT."

She rolled her eyes and shook her head in exasperation, but she realised it was Beach's gruff way of saying get well soon. "You got it, Sarge," she answered, mimicking his Alabaman drawl. "Ah'll do that. Sorry Ah'm so inconventiently injured, Sarge."

With a low rumble rising from his chest, Beach waved dismissively at her, then brushed past the curtain.

Covergirl smiled, sitting on the chair beside the bed. "He hates the infirmary about as much as you do," she explained.

Nomad nodded. "You can go after him if -"

Covergirl waved a hand elegantly. "Nah; he really does have to go train the greenies."

From beyond the curtain, they heard Beachhead's loud yell. "Kismet! What the hell're you still doin' in here? Get your ass out to the grounds, _now_! An' you can do ten extra laps for bein' late."

"Sergeant Maj -" Kismet's voice was a tiny squeak in comparison to Beach's awesome lungpower.

"Didja hear me? _Twenty _laps!"

There was a pause. "Sergeant major, please keep your voice down. Steeler's still asleep."

"Steeler can get -"

"_Please_, Sergeant Major. Doc said -"

"Awright, _awright,_" Beach's voice, now quieter, answered. "But if you ain't movin' for that door in five seconds…"

"Yes, si - sergeant major. I just need to -"

"Clutch can fluff up his own fuckin' pillows. Move it!"

Nomad and Covergirl glanced at each other, but the room beyond was now quiet. The former model smiled. "Beach wants to keep her."

Nomad raised an eyebrow.

"He does. Trust me, I can tell," Covergirl said. "I think she'll make it."

"Hope so," Nomad agreed. "I like her. That, and I heard Footloose out there last night, trying to talk to her. God, it was funny. He's hopeless. I swear, every second word was 'like'."

Covergirl groaned and shook her head, holding a hand to her eyes. "Oh, I can just imagine…" She did a slightly - only slightly - exaggerated impersonation of Footloose. "'So like, Kismet, you like, trained as a medic, like, when you were like in the regular army? Like?'"

Nomad giggled. "Yep, that sounds about right."

"Oh, god." Covergirl started giggling too, which made Nomad laugh even more, and for a few minutes neither woman could say anything, because as soon as either one tried, they broke down into giggles again. Nomad realised was stupid - poor hapless Footloose wasn't _that_ funny - but it felt good to laugh, even though it hurt her rib.

"Here, I brought you something," Covergirl said, wiping her eyes once they'd settled down. "Thought it might help with the boredom if Lifeline keeps you cooped up in here too long."

Nomad brightened as Covergirl pulled something small and purple from her pocket. "Hey, my iPod! You guys got my stuff from the apartment?"

The former model nodded. "Cobra trashed the place to make it look like a robbery gone wrong. If they cops'd got there first, they might've fallen for it…but, I mean, we knew you didn't have much to take, right? Flint, Storm and Clutch got most of it."

"Most?"

Covergirl brushed back her beautifully shiny blonde hair, hesitating only slightly.

"I can take it, Covergirl," Nomad said.

The other woman nodded. "Well…we got everything except your laptop. Cobra…smashed it."

Nomad's heart sank. It wasn't the fact that the computer was smashed - it was a few years old, slow to start up and running out of space on the hard drive. She couldn't leave it unplugged, because the battery only lasted an hour and a half. It'd been due for an update ages ago.

She didn't even use the laptop all that much - when she was at the Pit, she used the computers there if she needed to send any emails or do any research. That, and somebody (Nomad's bet was on Dial Tone) had installed _Plants vs. Zombies_ on them all, and that game was just plain addictive. Not to mention cute.

No, Nomad couldn't have cared less about the laptop. She could get a new one. The problem was that she'd had a lot of photos on the computer…photos of her old team. It was all she had left of them, and now -

"I had some backup discs in -" she started hopefully.

Covergirl shook her head. "Gone," she said flatly.

Nomad swore. "It was Andy," she said bitterly. "It would've been him. He's the only one who would've known…"

She tried not to show how upset she was, but she knew Covergirl could tell. They were roommates: out of all the Joes - apart from Lowlight - Covergirl probably knew Nomad the best.

"We brought the pieces back," Covergirl said quickly. "Mainframe said he'd work on it in his free time; thinks he can recover some of it. And you know if _Mains_ says that, there's a pretty good chance it'll happen."

Nomad sighed. There was no point worrying about it. What was done was done, she couldn't change it. Mainframe was a genius with computers - the older Joe vet knew more about them than Nomad ever would. If he couldn't get _something_ back, nobody could.

And if he couldn't…well, she had her memories, and they were just as good, right? Maybe she could call Archer, he might have some photos he could send. "Yeah," she said, but her voice wasn't as bright as she'd hoped. "Tell Mains I said thanks."

"He said he'd come see you later, anyway," Covergirl said, "so you can tell him yourself." She reached over and picked up the blue teddy bear. "You know, your luck really sucks, Nomad."

Nomad gave a dry grin. "Really? I hadn't noticed."

* * *

><p>Three days later, Lifeline let Nomad out of the infirmary again. Even though she was still stuck in the dreaded wheelchair, Nomad was glad to get out - her back hurt from lying in bed all day, and she'd been starting to get restless.<p>

She had to admit, though, the few days in bed had made a lot of difference. It was surprising how fast you could get better if you just sat around doing nothing. Her rib didn't hurt quite so much, and most of the bruises had already faded from purple to a sickly yellowish colour. The cuts on her face didn't need Bandaids anymore, though they still didn't look very nice. Her fingers were nowhere near healed, but she was still pleased with her progress - she was working on using the broken ones work her iPod. It was only a very small triumph, but it was something.

She'd spent most of the day in the mess hall, again. She'd gleefully (albeit slowly) pushed herself around for a little while using her palms to push against the wheels rather than gripping the rims with her fingers. Duke - the six foot two blonde-haired, blue-eyed top sergeant - had put a stop to that when she rolled past him; he'd dragged her backwards to a table, put the brakes on and given her a single command: "Stay."

She'd sworn at him…once he was out of earshot. She wasn't on friendly enough terms with the stern first shirt to swear at him to his face. He'd probably throw her in detention.

So here she was. It was just after lunch, and she was sitting at a table listening to Ace talking to one of the other pilots about missile trajectories or parameters or something like that. Nomad knew the other guy, but not well…and though she was racking her brains, she just couldn't remember his name.

He flew a stealth fighter, she knew that much.

She _could_ have just done what Jeckle did when she walked past: "Hey Nomad, hey Ace, hey guy whose name I can't remember."

The stealth pilot took it all in stride. "Hey, Jeckle," he answered with a wave.

"Doesn't it piss you off that nobody remembers your name?" the short woman asked curiously as she gathered up their plates.

He shook his head. "Nah. I'm used to it. Anyway, it's my job to fly under the radar."

"Huh." Jeckle shrugged. "Well, I guess that's one way of looking at it." She waved and ambled off back to the kitchen.

Nomad shook her head, amused, then glanced up as somebody sat beside her.

Psyche Out, the Joes' resident psychologist, smiled back at her. "Nomad," he greeted. "Feeling any better today?"

"I _was_," she replied good-naturedly, "and then along came a floppy-haired shrink. Nah, I'm good, Psyche, thanks."

"Well enough for a chat?"

Nomad sighed inwardly. Well…she _had_ promised both Hawk and Lifeline that she'd go see the psychologist as soon as she could. "Yeah, why not?"

* * *

><p>Psyche Out closed the door behind him, parked the wheelchair beside the squishy armchair that Nomad usually sat in when she was in his office, then he sat in his usual chair beside his desk. "I know you don't like me messing around in your head," he said, "so I'm just gonna get straight to the point. Are you coping with all this, Nomad?"<p>

She thought about it. "Honestly, Psyche, I…I don't really know _what _to think," she admitted eventually.

"Are you having dreams again?"

She'd had one last night - this time, she'd been in the brainwave scanner, and she'd watched in horror as she'd revealed all the Joes' secrets, rather than trying to resist by thinking about Goldilocks. "Yeah," she said. "Sometimes."

Psyche Out nodded. "Lifeline told me as much," he stated. "He said you told him they're different to the nightmares you used to have?"

Nomad sighed. "These ones are different. These ones change - it's not what actually happened, it's what _might've_ happened if I'd…if I'd told Cobra what they wanted."

Psyche Out made a note. Nomad frowned, craning her neck to try and see what he'd written. Raising an eyebrow, the blonde man tilted his notebook closer to his chest. "Any idea why that might be?"

"How the hell should _I_ know?"

Psyche Out gave her a look.

"Sorry," she muttered, immediately feeling guilty. "Look, I don't know. Probably because I'm…I was scared. I didn't want to give Cobra anything. I -"

He waited patiently. Nomad watched him watching her as she tried to gather her thoughts. "It wasn't like the Amazon," she said finally. "There was nobody else to worry about - just me. But I was more worried about giving the Commander the location of the Pit than I was about...well, dying, or whatever."

The shrink smiled. "I think that's it, too," he agreed.

Nomad hesitated before asking something that had been on her mind since the other day when Lowlight had taken her for that walk. "Hey…am I selfish?"

Psyche Out blinked, taken aback. "What? Where'd _that_ come from?"

"Am I selfish?" she repeated impatiently. "Everything I've done lately - resigning, breaking up with Lowlight; it was because _I_ couldn't deal with it. Does that make -"

"No." Psyche Out's voice was firm. "No, you're not selfish. Far from it."

"But -"

Psyche Out raised a hand and interrupted. " If _anyone_ had a reason to be selfish, it'd be you, after all that's happened to you. But what you just said - that you were more worried about giving Cobra Commander the location of the Pit than you were about your own life - doesn't that tell you something?"

"But anyone would've -"

Psyche Out just shook his head.

"But…"

"You're just going to have to take my word for it." Psyche Out's tone was final.

Nomad gave a small smile. Just the fact that the psychologist wouldn't argue about it (which was a first) with her made her feel a little better. "Um…there's something else I wanted to ask about."

"Yes?"

"Hawk said that there's a file with the Cobra report on my capture," she said slowly. "Do you think I could read it?"

"Ah. I thought you might ask about that. I do have a copy of it," he said reluctantly, "but I'd really prefer it if you waited a little while longer."

"I'd like to read it now."

Psyche Out sighed, then got up and opened one of the filing cabinets behind his desk, searched through it and pulled out a manila folder. He dropped it on her lap.

Nomad apprehensively opened it and looked at the top page. There were colour photos of her - one a mugshot, taken from when she'd infiltrated the Cobra recruitment agency, the other a still from a security camera, showing her standing in a corridor holding a pistol and an assault rifle, several Cobra troops lying in puddles of their own blood nearby.

She lifted her eyes to meet Psyche Out's. "You better show Storm Shadow that photo," she said. "He doesn't believe I offed ten Cobras on my own. There's three that you can't see, just behind that door there."

"You're stalling. I'll put it away if you don't -"

She flipped the page quickly. "No, I want to read it."

* * *

><p>The report had been written mostly by Andy. It was almost as if he'd been her case worker…or she'd been his experiment. He'd hypothesised, he'd studied, he'd concluded.<p>

It started out with the details of her capture - how Destro, Andy and the Cobra troops had taken out the power in her apartment, then waited outside on the fire escape. Nomad read about how she '_searched the apartment, oblivious to our [Cobra's] presence_' before being ambushed in her room and '_proceeding to put up an obviously desperate and badly thought out escape attempt_'. It gave her a chill to see that Andy had described the death of the one Cobra troop as '_an acceptable_ _loss_'.

What she read next didn't surprise her much. It creeped her out a little, but it didn't surprise her. It turned out that Andy had watched her the whole time; from the moment she was dumped unconscious in her cell, to when she'd first woken up, to when she'd taken out the guards. He'd watched her every move.

Hell, he'd even taken notes. Apparently, her fighting style was '_scrappy, but effective_' and her_ 'unpredictable movement took troops by surprise_'.

Nomad looked up at Psyche Out almost indignantly. "Scrappy?"

Psyche Out gave a half-shrug. "Well…you are a little," he admitted. "I've seen you training."

Damn. She'd have to work on that.

Nomad turned her attention back to the page. She was a little over halfway through.

"Are you sure you want to keep going?" Psyche Out pressed.

She nodded. "I'm sure."

"You don't have to," he insisted. "Maybe it'd be best if -"

He didn't want her to read it; that much was obvious. She glared at him.

He raised his hands defensively. "Alright," he said. "But just remember you can stop whenever you want. Nobody's forcing you."

"I know," she said quietly. "But…I have to."

* * *

><p>It was a mistake. She wished she hadn't seen the report; she wished Hawk had never mentioned it and stirred her curiosity. She swore at herself for being so stubborn and reading the damn thing even after Psyche Out - who <em>knew<em> what he was talking about, for fuck's sake, he _was_ a shrink - had suggested she didn't.

It was the details of Nomad's interrogation that got to her. Andy's clinical descriptions of his methods and her reactions made her feel sick - the matter-of-fact way he wrote, the suggestions of future methods he might have used. Nomad almost threw up when she saw how he considered letting some of the other Siegies -

God…no. She couldn't think about that. _Wouldn't_.

Psyche Out stood up. "That's enough," he said firmly.

Nomad pressed her hands together, ignoring the pain in favour of simply trying to stop shaking. It didn't work. "I'm not done -" she started. It was automatic - she didn't really want to read the rest. She'd just gone back to her old habit of trying to keep her emotional side hidden.

Of course, Psyche Out saw right through that.

"Yes, you are," he retorted. "I _know_ what you just read; I don't know _how_ many times I've been over it. There's nothing after that, anyway. No, I mean it. I shouldn't have let you see it in the first place. Damn it, what was I thinking?"

He took the report from her and threw it unceremoniously onto his desk.

"Psyche, I wanted to read it. It's my fault -"

He turned to her. "Don't give me that," he said kindly. "I'm supposed to be the reasonable one, here. Look, Nomad, we both know what you're like -"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked suspiciously.

He shook his head. "Nothing. I'm just saying…how can I put this?"

"Bluntly," she said.

"Really blunt?"

"Go for it. I swear I won't get up and hit you."

Psyche Out took a breath and looked her right in the eye. "Okay. Nomad, don't let this fuck you up again. You have friends here who care about you, and we're worried. None of us wanna see you go backwards."

Well, she'd asked for blunt, and she got blunt. Nomad felt her eyes start to tear up a little. "I won't. Hell, I'd get the shit kicked out of me if I did."

"You'll come talk to me if you need to?" the psychologist asked. "Or even if you don't want to talk to me, you'll talk to _somebody_?"

She nodded. "Promise."

"That's all I need to hear."

Nomad grinned at the shrink. "You know, I don't know why you bother using all those fancy words. You get your point across so much quicker when you just say it straight."

Psyche Out sighed.

* * *

><p>Nomad spent the rest of the day outside, her wheelchair parked near the beginning of Beachhead's obstacle course. The greenshirts on the afternoon roster were being put through their paces - she was finally able to put faces to Lockjaw and Atlas.<p>

Atlas was tall and thin. His shoulders seemed permanently slumped, and the whole time she'd been watching, she hadn't seen him even crack a grin. Lockjaw, on the other hand, kept talking - and Beachhead was getting angrier every time he caught the stocky young kid. Eventually, he sent the whole greenshirt unit to run thirty laps of the perimeter.

"Catch 'em starin'?" Beach asked, stomping over to stand beside Nomad with his hands on his hips, glaring fiercely after the greenies.

"Kinda hard not to," she admitted.

"They know what happened," the Ranger said. "Reckon some of 'em might quit after _seein'_ you, though."

"Thanks a lot," Nomad muttered. "You're on a roll trying to make me feel better, Beach."

The big man rolled his eyes. "Ah ain't tryin' to make you feel better. Anyway, you know what Ah mean."

Nomad knew all too well. It was one thing to think about serving your country. It was something else entirely to come face to face with the fact that you could be seriously wounded, or killed, for it. It wasn't something you really thought about when you signed up - she certainly hadn't. When she'd got out of hospital after the Amazon, she'd noticed the look in people's eyes, especially the younger soldiers, the fobbits and desk jockeys who had less experience in the field. It was kind of a mix of shock, horror, and awe - sometimes there was fear, too. People often hadn't known what to say to her. At that point, she hadn't encouraged them to say anything, which probably hadn't helped.

"Yeah, I know," she said, nodding.

"Good. You just keep sittin' there, let 'em get a good eyeful. Let 'em know what they might be in for."

"Yeah, okay. Hey, you want me to get some Post-Its and label the wounds, too?" Nomad raised her hands. "Here we go. Broken fingers: results of having hands smashed by hammer." She grinned to let him know she was joking.

"Don't _make_ me smack you in the head, scrawny. That ain't nothin' to joke 'bout." He paused, apparently realising that for just a moment he sounded concerned. "Jus' coz you're wounded don't mean you can talk back."

She sniggered. "Sure it does. Because I can tell Covergirl you threatened to hit me, and she'll hand you your own ass on a plate. Not only that, but you wouldn't get _her _ass for a pretty long time."

Beachhead glared down at her. "You wouldn't."

"Wouldn't I?" she asked sweetly.

Beachhead glanced down at her and cursed. "Gawddammit, you're just as bad as she is."

"Yep, Covergirl's taught me a lot."

* * *

><p>Two of the greenshirts washed out after seeing what had happened to Nomad. Nomad felt a little guilty, but as Beachhead had mentioned as he rolled her wheelchair inside, if they couldn't be prepared for what might happen, they had no business being in G.I Joe.<p>

Thankfully, Doc had been in the mess hall and had taken over the wheelchair-pushing duty. As soon as the big Ranger let go of the handles, Nomad relaxed. It wasn't that she didn't trust Beachhead…she just didn't like his driving. There was something unnerving about having him standing directly behind her; it made her think he was going to start shouting at her to run laps.

After dinner, Doc returned her to the infirmary, and she sat with Clutch and Steeler for an hour or so. The patch over Steeler's eye had been removed, and the gash running along his eyebrow - or at least, where his eyebrow had been before it'd been shaved off, much to the tank jockey's dismay - was being held together with suture tape. He had a gunshot wound to his right side, which was why he was still in the infirmary. Clutch wasted no time informing them - repeatedly - that he was getting out the next morning.

"I hope you get strangled by your sling," Steeler complained, gesturing to the material that was keeping Clutch's arm and shot shoulder immobilised.

"Yeah, hope you get better soon, too," Clutch answered cheerfully. "Unibrow."

"Shut up."

"That's all you got?"

Steeler raised his fist. "I got this, too," he warned.

Nomad giggled and rolled her eyes. "As much as I love this witty banter, I think I'm gonna head off to bed."

Clutch sat up straighter, grinning cheekily. "You want me to -"

"_I_ want you to finish that sentence," a quiet voice said.

The three turned to see Lowlight leaning against the door. He was looking at the mechanic, an eyebrow raised.

"Uh…know what? I forgot what I was gonna say," Clutch said.

Lowlight nodded, pushed off the doorframe and crossed the room. "Thought so," he said with a chuckle.

"Night, guys," Nomad said, sniggering.

"Night," Steeler said, waving.

"Don't let Lowlight bite," Clutch added.

Nomad shook her head as Lowlight rolled her to her bed and pulled the curtains shut behind him. "Hey," he said when he turned back to her.

"Hey," she answered, heaving herself out of the chair and onto the bed. The stitches in her belly pulled slightly.

Lowlight hurried to help her; she brushed him away. "I'm fine," she said. "I just need a little help getting my shirt off -"

She stopped, blushing as she saw the look Lowlight gave her. "I _meant_ because my shoulder hurts," she pointed out, but she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"I know what you meant," he said playfully, grabbing the hem of her t-shirt and pulling it gently over her head. She wasn't wearing a bra - it still hurt too much to have the strap over her injured shoulder.

"Uh huh. Suuure."

He helped her shrug into her stripy pyjama top, then buttoned it up. "Want me to sit with you?"

He meant until she fell asleep. She felt a little embarrassed; it was like she was a little kid who couldn't go to sleep without a parent close by to protect them from the monsters in the dark.

Then again, Nomad knew exactly how scary some of those monsters could be. And after that report she'd read today, she had the feeling that tonight would be a bad night. "Um…would you mind?"

He shook his head, adjusting the blankets over her, then pulling his chair closer to the bed. "Of course not," he answered. "Don't worry about it," he continued. "I'd be more concerned if you _didn't_ have nightmares."

Dammit. What was he, psychic or something? Did everyone in the Pit except her have some kind of sixth sense? "How'd you -"

"I know you."

"I don't like that answer. You use it too much," she grumbled.

Lowlight grinned crookedly. "Sorry."

Nomad changed the subject not-so-subtly. "So…what'd you do all day?"

She dozed off when he was halfway through complaining about Junkyard burying a bone in the trenches.

* * *

><p>She woke up with a short scream a couple hours later, after a nightmare involving Andy and several of his Crimson Guardsman buddies. Lowlight wasn't by her side, but it didn't take long for him to appear, ripping aside the curtains and rushing over to her. He was followed closely by Kismet - the poor girl looked unsure of what to do. After a moment of uncertain hovering, she disappeared from sight and discreetly pulled the curtains closed.<p>

"What?" Lowlight spoke soothingly. "What was it?"

"I…it was…" She couldn't tell him. She felt filthy. "Nothing. Don't -"

"You can tell me," he said, cutting her off. "You can trust me."

She wavered for a moment, caught between wanting him to know and feeling too embarrassed - no, not embarrassed, _ashamed_ - to tell him.

"Nomad?"

She took a shaky breath. "I read the report, the one Andy wrote."

Lowlight swore. "Why? Why would you want to -"

"So you've read it?"

His eyes searched hers, and he nodded. "God, what -"

"The last page?"

It took a moment for Lowlight to realise what she was talking about. "Oh, no." He hugged her tightly, apparently forgetting her injuries for a moment.

"Uh…Coop? Little sore."

He released her quickly. "Shit…sorry."

She managed a weak smile. The nightmare was already fading away.

Lowlight took her face in his hands. "I swear to god, Nomad, if I ever see the little fuck who did this, I will kill him. I _swear_."

"You'll have to perform a ritual to raise the dead, and then when he's undead you'll have to kill him again," she said, keeping her voice light, "because you're about the fifth person to say that. Or something along those lines, anyway. Headshots work best on zombies. Use a shotgun, they splatter."

"If that's what I have to do, I'll do it," he promised as she lay back down.

"Ah, he's not worth it, Coop. Thanks anyway, though."

Lowlight looked at her, opened his mouth, then decided to let it go. Nomad was grateful - she didn't want to talk about it anymore. Not right now - now, she just wanted to get back to sleep. No doubt Psyche Out would hear about it and want to chat in the morning, anyway.

Oh well…she could always pretend she didn't remember.


	5. Chapter 5

Ah...chapter ended up a bit longer than I thought...once again, it seems to be more a kind of 'study of Nomad'. It _was_ gonna be longer, but I kinda like where it ends. Next chapter SHOULD see the start of getting into some Cobra action.

Because I'm sure you're all getting bored :D

Aaaanywaaay...thanks for reading and reviewing and PMing and whatever else-ing!

Oh...and: WARNING! BADLY WRITTEN SMUT AHEAD! (I'm sorry!)

:D

* * *

><p>The next week passed unbelievably slowly. Nomad began to think she might actually be going crazy - each day seemed exactly the same as the one that'd just passed. She'd do a little physiotherapy to loosen up her shoulder, keep her legs strong and maybe work her fingers a little; hang out in the mess hall or the rec room. After that, she'd go outside and sit by the obstacle course and watch the Joes training (she often held several water bottles on her lap), then she'd return to the infirmary and go to bed.<p>

The only things that changed were the dreams. Sometimes they weren't so bad - other times, she woke up drenched with sweat, breathing hard and shaking. Thankfully, she didn't have the _really_ bad dreams often; she'd only had two since the day she'd read Andy's report.

Psyche Out, naturally, heard about them. Nomad had to admit, his sources were good - she hadn't told _anybody_ about the last nightmare, not even Lowlight. Yet the shrink had summoned her to his office the next morning to talk about it.

Nomad suspected he'd recruited Kismet, who was usually on night shift in the infirmary. That was the only thing she could think of - that maybe Kismet had heard her talking in her sleep, something Nomad apparently did often. Upon questioning, however, the intern claimed innocence. Looking into Kismet's big eyes, Nomad didn't have the heart to press. She didn't want to make the greenie cry.

She didn't want to get _too_ optimistic, but it looked like the nightmares might just pass as time went on. She hoped they would, anyway - unlike the dreams that resulted from the Amazon mission, these ones never stayed with her long. Only a few minutes after she'd woken, she found it difficult to remember exactly what had happened.

She also found it difficult to convince Psyche Out of that. The floppy-haired psychologist had looked at her suspiciously until she'd sworn on her best friend's grave that she was serious.

That had appeased Psyche Out - he knew what Matches meant to her.

Not long after that talk with the shrink, Nomad made a decision - one she'd been trying to make for a few months now, but hadn't quite been able to.

Well…that wasn't exactly true. Her head hadn't been in the right space - no, that wasn't it, either. If she was honest with herself, Nomad knew she just hadn't been brave enough.

Nomad needed to move on. She knew that; had realised it when she'd been strapped into Dr. Mindbender's brainwave scanner, resisting it by reliving her worst memories.

The thing was…in some vague, hazy place in the back of her mind, she'd realised that she had more _good_ memories now than bad ones. Why else would an image of Lowlight appear on the screen when she was trying to resist giving Cobra the location of the Pit? She'd had to block that thought consciously.

And then there were the other good times - her friends, the stupid things Clutch said, Wildcard breaking everything he touched (including her old iPod), Tripwire falling over everything. That time a whole group of them had slogged into the PX Snack Bar after a particularly gruelling PT, covered in mud and some kind of reeking green slime that had been…living…in the tunnels. The chaplain's assistants had vacated the premises hastily. Unfortunately, Hawk frowned upon terrorising the assistants, and when he'd walked in by chance and seen the muddy mess the Joes had tracked in with them, he'd made them clean the whole place.

Nevertheless, Nomad could've sworn she'd seen the corners of his mouth twitch slightly as he turned and strode out, shaking his head.

Those were the things she kept close at heart now. The good times. She was done with looking backwards, letting the bad stuff eat away at her. She'd love and miss her old team for as long as she lived (which would hopefully be a fair while longer), but…

Matches, Spider, Skipper and Hotshot; they'd cared enough to go after her when she'd been left behind. Nomad wasn't quite sold on the idea of heaven and hell, but wherever the boys were, they wouldn't begrudge her a little happiness, would they?

She could just imagine Matches flashing her his bright smile, raising a finger and chiming, "Lightbulb!"

Nomad decided she'd live for them, to honour their memories. It was the least she could do. And she had the Joes now; she'd live for them, too. It was time to move on, get herself back on track..

Time was exactly what Nomad would have plenty of very soon. Duke had found her a few days ago, watching as Sci-Fi and Tripwire played table tennis - very actively - in the rec room. She'd been sitting in the far corner of the room, as far from clumsy Tripwire as she could get. Duke had ducked as the explosives expert had almost sent his paddle flying into the top sergeant's head. Luckily, a strap was kept in the TV cabinet just for Tripwire to use, and the paddle simply dropped out of his hand and swung harmlessly from his wrist.

Giving both Tripwire and Sci-Fi a wary look, Duke informed Nomad that her three weeks of convalescence had gone through; everything had been arranged and she could leave at the end of the week.

Tomorrow.

Nomad didn't want to go. She argued that she could help with missions: she'd gladly turn fobbit for a little while and man the comms, or (shudder) research topographical maps to determine good points for insertion and extraction or base camps. She even volunteered to help Dial Tone reread all the records that the Joes had obtained from the Cobra computer system in Guatemala. And Dial Tone was somebody she usually tried to avoid. It wasn't that she didn't like him - he was okay - he just always managed to annoy the hell out of her.

She was desperate. She was dying to have something important to do. _Anything_ to get back into action.

Actually, what she _really_ wanted to do was find out what was going on with Cobra. She hadn't heard anything about their neurotoxin missile plot since the debrief. She'd tried to con something out of Breaker, but he was used to Joes trying to scrounge information from him and hadn't fallen for her 'innocent' questions.

Unfortunately, Duke wouldn't have any of it, either. He'd strictly forbidden her (on pain of no coffee) to take part in anything to do with missions. She'd grumbled at him behind his back before falling silent as he turned and shot her a warning look, pointing at her.

On the bright side, she'd be walking out of the Pit rather than rolling. While he said he would've preferred her to stay in the wheelchair for a little longer, Lifeline had reluctantly stated that if she wanted, she could ditch the wheelchair when she took her sick leave.

Well, of course she wanted. That damn wheelchair was _gone_, baby. She was looking forward to it so much she just couldn't sit still.

"Yo, kiddo. You listening?" Lady Jaye clicked her fingers in front of Nomad's face. "Helloooo?"

"Huh? What?"

"Never mind." Jaye raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I know that look. Bet I know who you're thinking about."

Nomad gave her an even stare. "Oh, yeah?" she challenged. "Who?" As if she needed to ask. Coming from Lady Jaye, it was predictable.

"Loverboy Lowlight."

Nomad shook her head. "Nope. I was thinking about Duke and Lifeline."

Jaye sniggered.

"What - _no_!" Nomad blushed bright red. "Not like that!"

"Well, Duke _is_ a man-of-action," Lady Jaye said, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. "But he doesn't strike me as your type. Lifeline, on the other hand -."

"No," Nomad interrupted quickly. "That's…that's just wrong." She thought it might be best to get the conversation back onto a track less likely to provide embarrassing stories for the mess hall. "You know, I really wish you wouldn't call Lowlight that."

"What, Loverboy?" Lady Jaye asked playfully, taking the bait. She stretched out her leg and jiggled the wheelchair with her foot - she knew well Nomad hated that. "Isn't that what he is?"

"He's -"

Covergirl, lounging on her bed, rolled over and hung her head over the side. "Course he is," she said loudly, cutting Nomad off. "They're…_lovers_." She said the last word dramatically, flourishing her hands.

Nomad opened her mouth, but couldn't think of a suitable comeback. "I - we…we're not -"

Lovers…the word freaked her out. She and Lowlight weren't _lovers_. You couldn't be _lovers_ after only a short time, could you? They'd only been together for…what, about a month in total, once she factored out all the shit that had happened.

Lovers…nah. Not even close. So why was she getting so worked up about it?

The two other women were obviously enjoying seeing her so flustered. "Come on," Covergirl said with a wink. "You can tell us."

"Yeah," Jaye added. "We're besties, right?"

"Not for long," Nomad retorted with a chuckle. Shaking her head, Nomad eased out of the wheelchair and stood on slightly shaky legs. She made a thinly veiled attempt at changing the subject. "I thought you two were here to help me pack."

"We are," Lady Jaye answered airily. "Doesn't mean we can't catch up on some girl talk while we do. Uh…should you be walking?"

Nomad gave a shrug, ignoring the twinge in her healing shoulder. "What Lifeline doesn't know won't hurt him. Anyway, he said I could start walking again tomorrow. What's one day early gonna hurt?"

Lady Jaye gave Nomad a look. "I guess." She snatched Nomad's rucksack from the floor where she'd dumped it and placed it on the bed. "I wish you'd buy some _real_ luggage," she grumbled.

"My ruck's fine. I don't have enough stuff to _need_ real luggage."

Jaye didn't miss a beat. "I wish you'd buy some stuff, then. We should go shopping!"

"No. I remember the _last_ time you took me shopping."

"So you remember how much fun it was."

"Fun wasn't the word I was thinking of," Nomad giggled as she circled the room tentatively, testing her legs. The stitches in her gut pulled slightly; not enough to pop open, but she'd have to take it easy for a little while longer. "But maybe we can go when I get back."

Covergirl beamed at her. "_Or_ you could go shopping while you're on vacation!"

"It's convalescence leave, not a vacation," Nomad pointed out.

"But you're still going to Hawaii," Covergirl countered. "For two whole weeks!"

Nomad sighed. "I know," she said glumly. "Don't wanna take my place, do you?"

The former model stared in disbelief. "Hell yes, I do! Nomad, anyone else would _kill_ for three weeks off!"

"Anyone else wouldn't have to spend the first week with _my_ parents, though," Nomad grumbled.

"I could think of one person who might," Jaye said, winking.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Nomad frowned. "Anyway, sitting on a beach all day getting sand in places it shouldn't be isn't my idea of a good time. I'd rather be here doing something _useful_, not just sitting around like a…a pet rock, or something."

Lady Jaye sniggered. "A pet rock?"

"Yeah," Nomad answered glumly. "All they do is gather dust, too."

The two other women exchanged knowing looks. "It's just procedure, Nomad," Jaye explained. "It'd be the same for any of us. Wounded -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Nomad waved her hand. "Still…"

Covergirl got up and stood beside Jaye. "Well, this isn't getting any packing done." She pulled open the top drawer of Nomad's bedside table, then sighed and shook her head in exasperation. "Jaye's right…we _do_ need to go shopping. You can borrow some of my clothes."

Nomad shook her head quickly. "No, no, I don't -"

"It's okay, you don't have to thank me," Covergirl said, grinning cheekily.

"I really wasn't going to," she answered wryly.

"Come on," Lady Jaye said, "it'll be fun. You can lay on the beach all day getting a tan -"

"Tanning is bad for you," Nomad interjected.

Jaye ignored her. "And let hot local guys give you massages and get you drinks with little umbrellas in coconuts -"

"I don't drink fancy drinks."

"- and rub sunscreen on your back," Jaye continued loudly, not to be deterred. "And…and…"

"And fan you with palm leaves while you're lying in a hammock," Covergirl supplied, staring dreamily at nothing in particular.

"Meanwhile, I'm bored out of my skull with nothing to do," Nomad finished. "And _nobody_ massages me or rubs my back unless it's -"

She stopped abruptly. Had she really been about to say Lowlight?

Covergirl and Lady Jaye perked up. "Unless it's…?" Covergirl prompted.

Nomad tried to come up with something that didn't sound too lame. "Unless it's…uh…"

Dammit, nothing was springing to mind.

"Unless it's…a certain sniper with curly blonde hair, blue eyes and a cute grin?" Jaye suggested with a broad smile.

"No!" Nomad snapped, then cursed. She'd been too quick to deny it.

Again, the other two women exchanged looks - these ones were gleeful.

"Um," she said stupidly.

Covergirl planted her hands on her hips. "What _exactly _is going on with you two? I mean, we all saw you in the plane on the way home - looking very cosy, by the way…"

"Shut up."

"And he's been in a much better mood since you got back," Lady Jaye agreed.

"_And_ he's been spending a whole lot of time in the infirmary…" Covergirl hinted.

Nomad rolled her eyes, but she was a little surprised that they didn't know already. Usually, the whole Pit knew the latest news almost as soon as it got out. "Alright, alright," she sighed, gesturing for them to start firing questions.

"Are you and Lowlight back together?" Covergirl asked bluntly.

Nomad hesitated, then nodded.

The ex-model punched the air triumphantly. "Yes! I knew it!"

Jaye grinned. "Any unexpected rendezvous in the infirmary bed?"

"Lady Jaye!"

"Hey, it's been known to happen."

Nomad held a hand up. "I don't want to hear it," she said quickly, although she could imagine - unfortunately - what Jaye and Flint could get up to. She'd heard several stories already about those two; Lady Jaye definitely wasn't shy, and Flint could be very…charming…when he wanted to be.

Covergirl gave a short squeal of excitement. "Oh, that's so awesome!" she exclaimed. "You and Lowlight are so adorable together. It's like…I dunno, you're a matching pair, or something. I mean, you both have dodgy history, you've both had bad dreams because of it…sorry, but it's just so sweet."

Nomad wasn't sure she liked the idea of being anybody's 'matching pair'. "Yeah. Sweet. _Sickeningly_ sweet, when you put it like that," she said, forcing a laugh. Covergirl flipped her off, giggling.

She gestured to the rucksack on her bed. "Okay, you've got what you wanted. Now, are you gonna help me pack, or what?"

"Right." Jaye removed the entire drawer from the bedside table and upended the contents onto the bed. "No, no…no…" she muttered, flinging aside three white tailored shirts. "You won't want jeans -

"Yes, I will. Gimme those."

"- because it'll be nice and warm in Hawaii…" Lady Jaye paused, ignoring Nomad's outstretched arms, and picked up a t-shirt between her thumb and forefinger. "What the hell is _this_?" she asked in disgust.

Nomad took the large man's shirt from Jaye and studied at it fondly. The material was so thin there was no stretch left in it. There were several holes in the t-shirt, and the seam in one shoulder had come undone. "It belonged to Matches," she explained. "I stole it ages ago, before the Amazon. I used to wear it as pyjamas."

"Oh. Here, I'll put it back -" Jaye started, holding out her hand.

Nomad hesitated. If she was serious about getting on with her life…well, this might be a good first step. "No…you know what? I…I think it's about time I let it go."

Covergirl gave her a stunned look. "Really? Are you sure?"

She paused for a moment, bunching the t-shirt in her hands, then nodded. "Yeah. I'm sure."

"Aw!" Covergirl pulled her into a careful hug. "I'm so proud of you."

Nomad shrugged her off half-heartedly. "Alright, alright, get off me."

Lady Jaye faked a sob. "Covergirl…our little girl's growing up."

"We should so tell Psyche Out."

Nomad smiled at them both, appreciating their efforts to lighten the moment. "Shut up," she said again. "Now…can we actually start getting some _packing_ done?"

* * *

><p>It was a little harder than she'd thought it'd be, leaving the Pit for her three weeks off. The short walk to the bus stop forcibly reminded her of when she'd resigned. She was oddly nervous - afraid that maybe this time, she really <em>wouldn't<em> be coming back. Nomad knew it was stupid, but she couldn't help herself. If Lady Jaye, Covergirl and Lowlight hadn't been there - and if she knew she wouldn't cop shit from the rest of the Joes and maybe get in trouble with Hawk (who'd all but ordered she take sick leave) - she would've turned right around and gone straight back to the Pit.

As it was, the walk to the bus stop wasn't the worst part. The worst part was saying goodbye to Lowlight.

Covergirl and Lady Jaye ordered her to 'have fun, and for fuck's sake, _relax_!', and then not-so-subtly grinned at Lowlight and taken their leave.

"They're right, you know," Lowlight said, looking down at Nomad once they were alone. "You need to take it easy."

"I'd rather be -" Nomad started.

"I _know_ you would," he said, rolling his eyes. "But after everything that's happened, you deserve a break."

She hesitated before she spoke again. "I feel like I've just got everything back, and now I'm losing it again," she admitted.

Lowlight shook his head. "You're not gonna lose anything," he said reassuringly. "You never lost it in the first place - once a Joe, always a Joe, and all that. It's only three weeks. It'll go quicker than you think."

"But - Coop, what am I gonna do? I'm gonna have all this time to think -"

"Well…you could think about _me_," he said roguishly, stepping forward.

She could never help herself when Lowlight got that wicked little glint in his eyes - it always made her want to play along. She grinned mischievously. "Now why the hell would I wanna think about _you_?"

The sniper bent, wrapped his arms tightly around her waist and lifted her to his eye level. He kissed her, smiling against her lips.

"Oh…_that_ would be why," she agreed, putting her arms around his neck, careful to avoid bumping her fingers.

He moved backwards into the bus shelter and sat on the bench. Her knees rested on the seat either side of his hips; his hands slid to her butt and pulled her harder against him.

"Dammit, sniper, if you don't stop that I won't be going _anywhere_," she murmured in his ear.

He flashed his crooked grin at her. "Ah. You've uncovered my cunning plan."

Nomad giggled and shifted her hips a little, enjoying the closeness and the way his eyelids half-closed as she moved.

"Call me anytime you want," Lowlight reminded her. "You know I'll be awake. If you need to talk…"

"I'll do that," she said, nodding. "Thanks - no really, Coop. Thanks."

He ran his fingertip gently down the long scar on her right arm - the stitches had been removed, but the scar itself was still scabby and angry red in places - and then his eyes flicked past her shoulder. "The bus is here," he said. "You should go."

Reluctantly, Nomad climbed off his lap. "Guess I'll see you in three weeks, then."

Lowlight slipped the straps of her rucksack from her shoulders, loaded it underneath the bus and then turned to her. "Have some fun, Nomad. I mean it; you deserve it." He paused. "And try not to kill your parents, okay?"

She gave him a flat look. "If you _knew_ my parents, you wouldn't be saying that."

* * *

><p>The slender palm trees swayed gently in the cool breeze coming in off the ocean. Nomad glanced up nervously, making sure she wasn't sitting underneath directly underneath any of them - the last thing she needed was to get clocked on the head and knocked out by a falling coconut.<p>

She knew it wasn't likely to happen. Still, knowing _her_ luck…

There were no coconuts above her. Satisfied, Nomad relaxed back on the sand, her fingers raking patterns that a Zen master - or maybe even a certain pair of ninjas - would've been proud of. She'd have to take a photo to show them when she got home. She'd even give it a title: 'Bored Brainless'.

The sun had almost completely set. Even Nomad, who didn't usually go for the whole sunset thing, had to admit that tonight's had been pretty spectacular - while a few minutes before the sky had blazed bright red and orange, it was now an almost-fluorescent pink, fading to dusky purple and then dark blue sprinkled with stars. Palm trees were silhouetted in black; from where she sat, it looked like a picture from a postcard or a calendar.

Maybe she should've run inside and grabbed Rock 'n' Roll's camera…oh well. Too late now.

It was still warm. The breeze was just enough to offset the humidity in the air, and the fine sand retained the day's heat; Nomad had spent the entire day bumming around in nothing more than panties and a singlet.

She studied her artwork, sighing. She knew she shouldn't be bored. She should be relaxing while she could - it _was_ her last week of convalescence leave, after all.

She'd spent the first week with her parents - which was just about as long as she could handle without going absolutely stark raving mad. They met her at the bus stop - something they'd never done before. Her mother had taken one look at Nomad's bandaged hands and broken down in tears.

Nomad knew her mother had never quite gotten over what had happened in the Amazon.

It had started in the car on the way home. Nomad's father had glanced in the rear-view mirror at her as she half-dozed in the back seat with her head leaning on the window; he'd suggested quietly that maybe Nomad should think about leaving the army for good. Before her mother had added anything - which she was clearly going to - Nomad had said sharply that she didn't want to talk about it; she just wanted to get home, grab something to eat, have a shower and get some sleep.

Her parents didn't protest - but Nomad knew the discussion wasn't over.

She brought it up herself on the third day by asking hesitantly how much they knew about what had happened. Apparently Hawk (or, as her mother informed her, 'A man called Abernathy') himself had called them not long after he and the others had got Nomad safely back to the Pit - they knew the extent of her wounds, and that was about it.

Nomad couldn't tell them everything; she wasn't allowed to. As far as they were concerned, she was still just regular army - she wasn't even allowed to tell them that when she got back to the Pit, she was going to receive a Purple Heart.

Her mum got angry when Nomad said she couldn't tell them everything, that it was classified information. As it often did, the talk about Nomad's chosen occupation turned into a full-blown argument, with her parents trying to convince her to retire for good, Nomad trying to explain that her place was with her team, and finally giving up and storming out the door to go for a long, long walk to calm herself down.

Nomad knew her parents were just worried - that they didn't want to see her get hurt anymore. Seeing her wounded had been hard for them. What pissed her off most was that they still wouldn't respect her decision to serve. They never had; and she was pretty sure they never would.

She had a nightmare on the fifth night. Thankfully, she didn't scream, but she _had_ gotten up, grabbed her phone and gone to sit on the couch huddled under a blanket as she talked quietly to Lowlight.

She didn't tell her parents. They'd just make a fuss, which Nomad really didn't want to deal with. She loved them…of course she did. But after spending the last few years either on-base or living on her own, there was only so much of them she could take. She'd almost - _almost_ - been glad when it was time to leave for the airport to catch her flight to Hawaii. She told her parents she'd email every couple of weeks if she got the chance…and for the first time in a long time, she _told_ them she loved them.

Once again, her mother had burst into tears and almost broke another few of Nomad's ribs hugging her. Her dad had pried her off, gesturing with a sad little smile for Nomad to get going.

And so now she'd already lazed away one week on the beach. Another week, and she could get back to the Pit and back on duty. She couldn't wait - she'd been sitting on her ass long enough. She was itching to get back to work.

It had been five weeks all up since Cobra Island, and she'd made a pretty good recovery, thanks largely to the Cobra doctor having patched her up while she was being held prisoner. Her broken rib only ached after her daily jog along the beach. The bullet wound in her shoulder was still a bit touchy, usually in the mornings, but had mostly healed up. All but one or two of the deeper cuts on her belly had closed up. Her fingers still hurt, but she'd regained a lot of movement in them and the pain was bearable - unless she accidentally whacked a finger really hard on something. The bruises on her face and feet were all gone.

Nomad sighed and raised her arms over her head, arching her back and stretching until her rib twinged. She opened and closed her fingers slowly, working the joints and muscles like Doc had showed her. She grinned, remembering the look on his face when she reminded him that she'd done it all before. "Humour me," he'd replied. "I'll feel better."

Yawning, Nomad glanced around. It _was_ beautiful here, she'd admit that much. Uncle Sam had compensated her well and paid for most of her two weeks in Hawaii. She would've been happy with that, but somehow Lady Jaye and Covergirl had convinced her to splurge and upgrade from the fancy hotel to a small, private lodge. As Jaye had pointed out, it wasn't like Nomad couldn't afford it - she was actually still living off compensation (and the interest it gained sitting in the bank) from the Amazon mission. It wasn't that she was tight with money; it was just that in the last year there'd been very little she'd wanted - or needed - to buy. And now that she was living on base in the Pit, most things were provided.

The lodge was right on the beach, ten minutes from the nearest neighbours. It was adorable - looked like three small huts joined together. It had polished wood floors, a little deck with three steps that led straight onto the sand. The roof outside even looked like it was thatched. There were torches stuck into the sand here and there that could be lit at night - Nomad lit them the first night, but hadn't lit them since because she was worried about burning the place down. But it had looked damn impressive.

Since she'd been here, the only people Nomad had seen were the owners of the lodge - only because they'd welcomed her personally - and Rosalie, the cleaner. And of course the people in the shops when she took the occasional walk into the nearby town.

The sun had completely gone down now. Nomad yawned again, thinking about getting up and going for a quick splash in the water, when she heard her new phone start ringing. She glanced around for a second, trying to remember where she'd put it when she'd come outside this morning - she'd been out here for most of the day.

Ah, yeah…she'd left it on the deck. Nomad jogged over - the sand was so fine that it actually squeaked beneath her feet. The first day she'd got here, she'd spent five minutes just walking and jogging back and forth across the beach, delighted.

She scooped the phone up, flipping it open with a grin when she saw who was calling her. "And just what do _you_ want?"

"_Hello to you, too,_" Lowlight's quiet voice answered with a chuckle. "_Is that any way to answer your phone?_"

"Sure is," she answered brightly, plonking herself down on the top step and digging her toes into the warm sand.

"_You're bored._"

That was Lowlight - always to the point. It always surprised her how he could tell how she was feeling, even when he couldn't see her face. She sighed. "You have _no_ idea."

"_I'm pretty sure I do_," he answered dryly. "_Nomad, do you even _know_ how to relax?_"

She paused. "Honestly? I try not to," she admitted. "Ever since the Amazon, I've just…kept busy."

"_To keep your mind off things._"

"Well…yeah. That's why I never took convalescence back then. I knew I'd just end up thinking about it all…" She trailed off. If she went there, she'd just start thinking about the last couple of months - and she didn't need that again. She'd already called Lowlight four nights out of the seven she'd been in Hawaii, woken by nightmares.

She heard him sigh. "_What are you doing now? And don't say talking to me, either._"

Lowlight knew her well. Nomad sniggered. "You're no fun," she said, standing up. "Nah, I'm just about to go inside. It's dark -" she glanced down as her stomach rumbled, "and I'm getting kinda hungry."

She slid the glass door open and stepped inside the lodge, heading through the large open living area to the little kitchenette tucked away behind the counter. "So, what's happening at home?"

"_Not much. Wildcard broke the Mauler yesterday. Covergirl wasn't happy._"

Nomad rolled her eyes - poor Wildcard was like a human wrecking ball. He broke just about everything he touched. "How'd he manage that?"

"_I have no idea, but he busted the entire left tread._"

She shook her head in exasperation, even though Lowlight couldn't see her. "He's hopeless…poor Wildcard, I bet Covergirl tore him a new one."

"_Pretty much. So, do anything interesting today_?"

Nomad sighed. "Nope. Just sat on my ass all day." She grabbed an apple from the big bowl on the counter and turned around. "I was thinking maybe tomorrow I'd go snorkelling, or something."

"_Sounds like fun._"

"They say there's a good reef around here. Apparently, there's a hundred and fifty year old turtle swimming around -"

She broke off. She'd wandered into the sunroom - the room just off the living area that had an entire front wall of glass, making the most of the spectacular view - and suddenly, she couldn't shake the feeling that her private cabin wasn't so private anymore.

"_Nomad_?"

The last time she'd felt like this had been in Sierra Gordo, just before the native Tucaro Indians and Recondo (the Joe jungle trooper) had jumped out to scare the crap out of her and Outback.

She hadn't known that Destro -

Oh, fuck. Nomad faltered and moved away from the glass wall quickly. What if -

No. That was just stupid. For a start, only the Joes and her parents knew where she was, and the people here thought she was regular army.

"_Nomad, what's going on? Answer me._"

Secondly, Cobra Commander and the rest of his insane cohorts weren't actually all that interested in her. She'd just been a bonus brought home by Andy.

Still…the thought was there, in the back of her mind. What if Cobra had somehow traced her here? What if…what if Zartan had somehow followed her, disguised as…as Rosalie?

Oh, for fuck's sake; that was ridiculous. Zartan was too big to be able to disguise himself as Rosalie, even using his holographic devices.

His sister Zarana, then. Or the Baroness. And Zartan had plenty of other people to choose from - he could've been that surfer dude who'd tried to pick Nomad up the other day with the bad line about snorkels.

"_Talk to me, or next time on the range I'll shooting you in the ass myself, _" Lowlight warned.

Narrowing her eyes, Nomad peered outside into the darkness. The feeling had gone as quickly as it had come…still, she was now on edge. She'd had that feeling before: a fuzzy kind of feeling where the hair on the back of her neck stood on end, and her shoulders got all tense, and shivers ran down her spine.

She shook it off. She was just being paranoid. There was no way it could be Cobra. No _way_. "It's nothing, Lowlight. I just thought -"

_THUD THUD THUD_!

Nomad spun, dropping her apple and letting out a sharp cry of alarm as somebody knocked heavily on the front door of the cabin. "Haaa…god _damn_ it! No…no, it's alright, Coop - just someone at the door. Scared the fuck outta me."

"_You better go answer it_."

Nomad hesitated, then padded back through the living area. She stopped in front of one of the large, squishy chaise lounges - the one she always sat on - and lifted the cushion, slipping her knife out from underneath it.

…Okay, so maybe she really _was_ getting paranoid…

Whoever was outside knocked again. Nomad slowly made her way down the short hallway the led to the front door, gripping the knife in one hand, the phone forgotten in the other. She pressed herself to the wall beside the door.

Apart from that, she didn't move.

She _couldn't_ move.

_I can't do it_.

She wondered if this was what an anxiety attack felt like. Her heart was slamming against her ribs as if it wanted to burst through them like the baby alien Chestbursters in the Ridley movies. Her legs felt like they'd been cemented into place.

She'd lost her nerve. She couldn't -

Yes. She could. She _had_ to; if she didn't, she might as well not go back to the Pit, because she'd be useless on missions. And there was no way in _hell_ that she wasn't going back to the Pit.

Nomad forced herself to take several long, deep, calming breaths. She could do this. It was just somebody at the door - probably just the owners coming to check up on her, or something.

_THUD THUD THUD!_

Well…somebody who wanted to either kidnap her or kill her would hardly be knocking, would they?

She didn't give herself any more time to think about it - she reached out, grabbed the doorknob and yanked the door open.

"Wha -"

The knife slipped from her hand, landing dangerously close to her bare feet. She stared in disbelief at the man standing in the doorway, a pack slung over one shoulder. "Wha - but - how -"

Lowlight flipped his phone closed and stuffed it into the pocket of his jeans. "Hey," he said, smiling down at her.

"Wha - Lowlight, what are you doing here?" she managed to get out.

"I took a week's leave," he said with a shrug. "Thought I'd surprise you."

She gave a laugh and shook her head. "Well…you definitely did that."

He gave her a look she couldn't quite read. "You don't mind, do you?"

"No…no!" she said quickly, raising her hands. She saw the phone still clutched tightly in her right and flipped it closed. "It's just - I thought - you gave me a bit of a fright, that's all."

The sniper stepped inside, his expression questioning.

"I thought…maybe…" She tried to explain, but she couldn't get the words out. It sounded stupid just thinking about them; how much of a coward would Lowlight think she was if she told him she'd thought Cobra had found her? "Never mind."

With another unreadable glance, Lowlight let it drop. Instead, he raised an eyebrow. "Do you always answer the door in your undies?"

She glanced down at herself. "Guess I'm lucky it was you and not a random stranger at the door then, huh?"

"I like it."

"You're biased." She padded back into the sunroom and picked up the apple, noticing with some satisfaction that Lowlight checked out her ass as she bent over - she saw his reflection in the glass wall. "Did you really take a week's leave?"

He nodded. "Yep."

Nomad looked at him, confused. "So…why'd you come _here_? Coop, you should've gone to see your sister. You can see me anytime you want at the Pit."

The sniper gave a slight smile. "I called Una and gave her the short version. She's okay with me being here." He paused, studying her intently. "Are you?"

Nomad brushed past him and back to the kitchen, avoiding both his eyes and the question. "I'm still hungry. Hey, there's a place that does really nice pizza -"

She glanced back she felt him step close behind her. "I've got a better idea," he murmured, leaning down to speak in her ear.

"_Lowlight_," Nomad admonished. "You've been here a whole five minutes!"

"And I've had to stare at you in your underwear for all of them."

She turned around. "You're as bad as Flint when Lady Jaye gets back from a mission."

Lowlight grinned lopsidedly and touched her in a way that made her blush.

"Um…pizza," Nomad said vaguely, smoothing Lowlight's shirt across his chest. "They, uh…they deliver, too, you know."

"Good." He let her go, holding her at arm's length. "How's your rib?"

She blinked, stunned by the abrupt change of subject. "It's…fine."

"And the shoulder?"

"…Good."

"Stomach?"

She patted her belly. "Mostly healed up. I've put on weight in the last couple of weeks, though. Beachhead's gonna have a field day."

Lowlight sniggered. "What about your hands?"

"Still achy sometimes, but getting there," she said, wiggling her fingers at him.

He nodded. "Good," he repeated. He grabbed her wrist firmly in one hand and pulled her toward the only door he hadn't been through yet - the one leading to the bedroom.

"But - I thought we were getting pizza?" Nomad asked cheekily.

A low rumble came from deep in the sniper's chest. "Pizza can wait," he said. "I can't."

Nomad allowed the sniper to sweep her into the lodge's one massive bedroom - again, the entire front wall facing the beach was made of glass. Nomad had felt awkward with such a lack of privacy - the cabin was so secluded that curtains weren't necessary, not even in the big ensuite.

She had the feeling that pretty soon she was going to be downright _embarrassed_ by the glass.

Oh well. At least it was dark outside.

The room had clearly been intended for a couple - Nomad wondered if Lady Jaye and Covergirl had convinced her to rent the lodge because they knew Lowlight was going to show up. It'd be something they'd do.

Lowlight spun her in his arms until she was facing him, then walked her backwards until her knees hit the edge of the giant bed. She fell back onto the sheets, lacing her hands behind Lowlight's neck and pulling him down on top of her. He kissed her fiercely, his tongue slipping past her lips.

Nomad's hands ran down Lowlight's back and up over his chest, lightly tracing the well-defined muscles underneath his t-shirt. His lips caressed her neck, then followed the line of her tank top. "God, Nomad, you're beautiful."

She repeated her little trick, only this time she wordlessly grabbed a handful of his shirt. Taking the hint, Lowlight rocked back on his knees and yanked the shirt off, tossing it away.

Nomad stared - she couldn't help it. Lowlight was tall and lean - there wasn't an inch of fat on him, and while he wasn't the biggest guy in G.I Joe, he had some damn good muscles.

…Nomad had always had a thing for muscles…

Lowlight knew that. He leaned over her, supporting his weight with one hand and taking hers in the other, and pressed it to his abs, guiding her hand lower, grinning. She knew he was waiting for her to pull away in embarrassment when her hand hit the low-riding waistband of his jeans.

She smirked up at him, not falling for it. Instead, she tugged the button open and slowly unzipped the fly. "Yeah?" she asked impishly as he looked at her in surprise. "What're you gonna do about it, sniper?"

He laughed. "I can think of a few things."

"Show me. Now, Coop, come on," she breathed.

She'd never wanted him so badly. It'd been months since she'd last been with him - months filled with tension as first he recovered from several gunshot wounds to the chest that had almost been fatal. She craned her head up and pressed her lips to each one of those scars now. It was because of that - because she was still dealing with the loss of her old team, and couldn't take losing more friends - that she broke off whatever it was she'd had with him and resigned.

After that, she'd just plain missed him. There hadn't been one day when she hadn't wanted to see him: and on Cobra Island, when Snake Eyes had gestured behind her, and she'd spun and seen Lowlight striding over to stand protectively over her and the injured Lifeline - well, it felt like her heart had lightened so much it had flown straight out of her chest.

But now wasn't the time to be thinking about that…now wasn't the time to be thinking about anything at all, because Lowlight's hand had just pushed up beneath the hem of her tank top to squeeze her breast gently and flick her nipple with his thumb. The other hand trailed along her thigh, coming to a stop at her hip; he toyed with the waistband of her decidedly unsexy black panties.

Why, _why_ hadn't she worn the _red_ ones…?

Nomad gave a quiet moan. "Dammit, Coop, stop teasing…"

He tickled her inner thighs playfully, chuckling as she wriggled and punched his shoulder.

"_Cooper_!"

He shut her up with another kiss - Nomad wasn't sure what to pay more attention to; the kiss, or the hand that had now slipped down the front of her underwear. She arched - and when she did, Lowlight's arm went around her waist and lifted her up, pulling her against his body so she was straddling him.

She wrapped her legs tightly around his hips, a sense of self-satisfaction flooding through her as she felt his heat through his jeans, but then all thought left her mind as he bunched up her t-shirt and pulled it over her head.

Nomad blushed as Lowlight looked at her, his eyes wandering. "What?"

He shook his head. "Did I say anything?"

"No, but you were thinking it," she retorted.

The sniper grinned crookedly. "Yeah, I was," he said. His voice was quiet, as usual, but huskier than she'd ever heard it. He brushed his fingers over the scars on Nomad's belly. "They look better."

She nodded, her breath catching in her throat. "Doc cleaned them up when he restitched them," she explained self-consciously, looking away.

"Even if he hadn't, it wouldn't matter," Lowlight said, tipping her head up. "You _know_ I don't care."

"Yeah, but…I still don't -" She broke off, forgetting how to speak as Lowlight lowered her back onto the bed, placing deliberate, sensuous kisses all over her body.

Her bare skin tingled wherever his lips touched. It was almost like some kind of torture - it was unbearable - and yet she wanted him to keep going.

He slowly kissed his way down to her waist, where he paid particular attention to each one of her scars. She twisted her fingers in his hair - and then he tugged her panties off her hips and down her thighs, and then they were somewhere on the floor but Nomad didn't know where because all she could focus on was where Lowlight was now kissing. "Ah…oh, _goddammit_, Coop…that's good…"

Nomad's nails hadn't quite regrown enough to dig into his shoulders. She shivered violently with pleasure.

Lowlight stopped, glancing up at her and smiling wickedly.

"What - why'd you -" she started breathlessly, but she broke off and watched appreciatively as he quickly stripped his jeans off. They joined the rest of the clothes scattered across the floor.

Nomad reached out and pulled him onto her. His weight always reassured her; the way he braced his strong arms on either side of her was comforting.

She knew that he'd be content to just lie there, if that was all she wanted. But Nomad wanted more than that. She shifted her hips slightly, rubbing against him, meeting his eyes.

Lowlight looked at her hungrily. "Are you sure?" he asked quietly.

She nodded. "Come on, Coop. Please."

His eyes flicked to his pack - he'd dropped it by the door. Nomad hadn't noticed it until then. "We should -"

Nomad knew what he meant - he wanted to be safe. A rush of gratitude washed over her - followed immediately by a pang of guilt.

She should tell him. But what if he -

She grabbed his arm before he got up. "It's okay," she said quickly. "I've got it under control."

Lowlight chuckled.

She grinned bashfully. "No pun intended." She whacked him lightly on the chest. "Are you gonna make me wait much longer?"

Nomad closed her eyes as Lowlight kissed her intensely and eased into her.

When Nomad thought about it, she realised that tonight was only their third night together. The first had been in a hotel room after the funeral of another Joe; the second had been back at the Pit, on her birthday. Any other time was a stolen moment - maybe he caught her alone, putting her paintball gun away, or a during a lull in a practice run in the trenches. There was always the risk of somebody interrupting.

At the Pit, it wasn't odd to sometimes find Flint and Lady Jaye locking lips in some corner or other - or Beachhead and Covergirl, or sometimes even Scarlett and Snake Eyes. Nomad, however, didn't like the idea of somebody seeing her in those kinds of circumstances - she'd never been one for public displays of affection. Lowlight generally kept his distance when others were around, too…he was a very private person, one of the 'loners' of the Joe team.

Tonight wasn't like any of those times. Tonight, they were truly alone; they didn't have to stifle their cries for fear that a certain mechanic and sailor were listening at the door (which Nomad wouldn't have put past either Clutch or Shipwreck back at the hotel - hell, the whole Joe team had practically been in on trying to get her and Lowlight together). They didn't have to worry about anybody walking in.

Tonight, they weren't Joes. They were on vacation, and they didn't have to worry about anything.

And so tonight, Nomad didn't bother biting back her cries of satisfaction as he moved within her, falling into rhythm with her easily. Lowlight's soft grunts and moans turned her on even more. "Yes, Coop…that's it…"

"Ah…god, Shezz -"

It struck her as odd that he knew her real name. She'd never told him; she preferred Nomad. Pretty much the only people who called her by her real name were -

But that thought was pushed aside as Lowlight thrust deeper into her. Nomad arched her back as she came, practically convulsing against him, and as she tightened around him, Lowlight came, too. He bucked against her, breathing in short, sharp gasps.

He rested his full weight on her, his chest still heaving. Nomad squeezed her eyes shut and held him, waves of pleasure still rolling through her.

Eventually - when they'd both caught their breath - Lowlight scooted sideways. Nomad rolled onto her side and laid her head on his outstretched arm. She pressed herself close to him, not wanting to lose his warmth just yet. Lowlight seemed happy to lie there in silence. Nomad felt like she should say something, but was afraid of ruining the moment.

When she caught a glimpse of the clock on the bedside table, though, she couldn't help herself. "Hey, Coop?"

"Mmhmm?"

"I think it's a bit late to order pizza."


	6. Chapter 6

Right. This fic isn't going as well as I'd hoped. It's slow, I can't seem to write Nomad as well as I wrote her in Shadows...I dunno. I think I'll throw in a mission next chapter, and hopefully it'll liven things up a bit.

Course, it doesn't help that I'm getting distracted by other ideas...but maybe that's because I'm not liking this one much at the moment.

Anyway...that's about all I've got to say. Sorry for being such a bum. Heh heh.

As always, thanks for the reviews and the PMs and the emails, all the encouragement is very needed at the moment.

* * *

><p>Sunlight streamed through the big glass wall. Nomad could feel it on her bare skin, warm and inviting. She'd slept in, for once - it had to be at least ten o'clock. Opening her eyes, Nomad glanced at the clock.<p>

It was eleven thirty.

Nice.

Smiling to herself, Nomad arched her back in a long, blissful stretch and rolled over.

"Morning." Lowlight grinned back at her, his hands behind his head.

"Hey," she answered contentedly. The sheets were pushed down around Lowlight's waist - Nomad liked what she saw. She scooted sideways, using his chest as a pillow.

Lowlight curled an arm across her shoulders. "Sleep well?"

"Is that a trick question? I don't remember getting much sleep at all," she said playfully.

It was true. She and Lowlight had enjoyed each other until _very_ late that night. Or, to be more precise, very _early_ that morning.

"Not _my_ fault," he said innocently.

"Is so."

He shook his head. "Nope. I seem to remember you -"

Nomad blushed. "Alright, _alright_," she said quickly.

Lowlight chuckled and tickled her ribs. Nomad jumped, rolling over and punching him lightly. "_Don't_!" she giggled.

He did it again. Nomad sat up and threw herself on top of him, pinning him to the bed - and then she blushed, not knowing exactly what she should do next. So far, it had always been Lowlight who'd made the first move.

Lowlight's eyes glinted mischievously and he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. "Or what?" he prompted, darting his head forward and stealing a kiss.

"I forget," she murmured, resting her full weight on him. She closed her eyes, lulled by the warmth from both the sun and the sniper's body beneath her. "Hey, Coop?"

"Mmhmm?" He sounded quite happy, too.

"How'd you know my name?"

He looked up at her. "I looked at your files," he admitted. "Just after you left - when you resigned - Clutch told me you said he could see what your real name was…figured you wouldn't mind if _I_ looked."

Nomad nodded, snuggling against him. "Oh. Well…"

Lowlight lifted himself slightly on his elbows. "Are you okay with that?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but found herself thinking too much. Not many of the Joes knew her real name: Sherry (shudder). In fact, since the Amazon, she'd treated her real name as strictly need-to-know - only the honchos knew, her bosses and superior officers, and the medical staff, of course. And anyone who'd known her before, but all her other friends from Basic were scattered around in different units, and it had been ages since she'd seen any of them.

Now, she always introduced herself as Nomad. It was yet another thing that irritated her parents - although they'd hated her old nickname, too, so it didn't really make much difference there.

Nomad guessed it was just another one of her things - she'd stopped telling people her real name in order to keep them at arms length. The less they knew about her, the less they could care.

…Or at least that's what she figured Psyche Out would say.

Her old team had known, of course. So had Goldilocks. Archer knew, but he only called her Shezz warningly, when she was on the verge of getting into trouble.

Of the Joes, only Hawk, Doc and Lifeline (and maybe Stretcher), Psyche Out, Duke and Stalker - who'd apparently seen her file - knew her name. Clutch had told her he hadn't checked out her file on account of it taking all the fun out of bugging her.

Not even Covergirl knew. Nomad felt a stab of guilt; when she got home, she'd tell her.

Who cared if the whole Pit knew her real name by the end of the day? It wasn't like it was a _bad_ name…unlike, say, Tormod Skoog.

Poor Tripwire.

"Nomad?" Lowlight's clear blue eyes were filled with worry.

Anyway…wasn't she supposed to be getting herself back on track? "Yeah, I'm okay with it," she answered, pushing the sniper down again.

His fingertips lightly traced up and down her back. "Good."

"Just don't be surprised if I don't answer to it right away," she said, chuckling. "My parents are pretty much the only ones who call me by my real name."

"We've got a whole _week_ to get you used to it," Lowlight said.

His hands felt good. Nomad shifted slightly, a warmth that had nothing to do with sunlight flooding through her. "Mm…starting now?" she asked suggestively, making it clear what she wanted.

Lowlight flashed her his adorable grin. "Hell yes…_Shezz_."

* * *

><p>"Hey, hey! Lookin' pretty tanned, there, <em>wahine<em>!"

Nomad glanced up as she made her way from the personnel elevator, heading to her room to dump her rucksack. "Hi, Torpedo." She grinned. "Yeah…guess even _I_ can't resist a sunny beach."

Torpedo - probably the most easygoing Navy SEAL she'd ever met - sauntered up beside her and went to put his arm around her shoulder, then stopped himself.

"It's okay, Torp, my shoulder's good now."

Smiling broadly, Torpedo put his arm around her and gave her a quick squeeze. "_Aloha_. Glad to hear it, Nomad. So, you a surfer babe now, huh? Catch some primo waves?"

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Not quite," she admitted. "I tried, but I couldn't get the hang of it. I think I stood up…once. No, twice."

Torpedo let her go, shaking his head in mock disappointment. "Ah, too bad. One day, me an' Rocky'll teach you, huh?"

Nomad gave the Hawaiian man a knowing look. "You just wanna laugh at me when I fall off."

He sighed. "'Fall off'," he muttered. "Girl, you don't 'fall off' a board, you wipe out."

She shrugged. "What's it matter? Either way, it ends up with you laughing at me, right?"

He pretended to think about it. "Well…yeah, you got me. Lowlight any good?"

Nomad smiled, picturing Lowlight skimming the waves on his surfboard. At the time, she hadn't really taken much notice of how good or bad he was; she'd been too distracted by the fact that he was only wearing boardshorts, but when he'd fallen off - make that 'wiped out' - she'd laughed her ass off at him. Dumping his surfboard on the shore, shaking his hair out of his eyes, he'd chased her across the beach and tackled her to the sand. Ignoring her protests, he'd then grabbed her around the waist, carried her to the water and unceremoniously threw her in.

Consequently, when she'd found her feet, Nomad had lunged at him and brought him down, mock-wrestling with him under the water.

Things had only got more interesting from there….

"He wasn't too - wait." Nomad frowned. "How'd you know -"

Torpedo gave her a look.

She rolled her eyes. "Right. So the whole Pit knows, do they?"

He nodded.

"Figures."

"Ah, I wouldn't worry 'bout it too much," Torpedo said with a laugh. "I mean, everyone already knew you two are -"

"_Alright_, alright," Nomad interrupted.

"Heh heh." Torpedo waved a hand. "Nah, I never pictured you as a surfer chick, anyway." He paused, casting her a sly, sideways glance.

He obviously wanted her to ask. Nomad shook her head in exasperation, but played along. "What do you picture me as?" she sighed.

"A hula girl!"

"_Torpedo_!" Nomad punched his arm indignantly. "I can't dance for shit."

"That's okay, hula is easy!" Torpedo waved his arms and started to sway his hips from side to side, singing a typical hula tune. "See, even I can do it!"

Nomad couldn't help herself; seeing the SEAL attempting to hula was too much. Nomad started to giggle, and before she knew it she was crying with laughter. It didn't help that Torpedo sang more and more tunelessly as he exaggerated the dance.

"I always _knew_ you'd be more comfortable in a grass skirt and a coconut bra, Torp."

Wiping the tears from her eyes, Nomad glanced around to see Covergirl watching the hula-dancing SEAL with one perfectly arched eyebrow raised.

"Don't forget the lei, CG," Torpedo replied, unfazed. "Never forget the lei."

Covergirl rolled her eyes. "I'll tell you what you can lei," she muttered.

Torpedo didn't miss a beat. "Oh, _naughty_," he said, winking.

Nomad giggled again, then Covergirl grabbed her shoulders and swept her along the corridor. "See you later, Torp!" Nomad called over her shoulder.

"No dice. I'm shipping out in a couple hours - gotta go get ready. Hula lesson'll have to wait 'til I get back!"

Nomad looked up at Covergirl. "Thank god for _that_."

The former model sniggered, bringing Nomad to a halt outside a door. It wasn't theirs - it was the door to the room beside theirs, which Scarlett and Lady Jaye shared. Covergirl threw it open without so much as knocking. "Look who's hooome!" she trilled.

Scarlett beamed. "Hi there, Nomad."

"Looking pretty relaxed, kiddo," Lady Jaye said, looking over the top of her magazine and then throwing it onto the bed. She studied Nomad for a moment. "I thought you said tanning was bad for you?" she said smugly.

Nomad caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her normally pale skin was now a very light shade of bronze - there'd been a couple of days when she'd forgotten to put sunscreen on. She didn't look too bad; the shadows that usually hung under her dark eyes weren't so obvious. She'd slept well during the last week of her vacation…despite Lowlight being there to distract her from sleeping.

Or maybe she'd slept well because he helped her work out all her restlessness.

Either way, she'd slept better with Lowlight beside her than she had for a long time. She'd only had one bad dream that last week in Hawaii - she couldn't remember what it'd been about. She'd forgotten almost immediately as Lowlight gathered her tightly in his arms and just sat there with her, in the middle of the bed, kissing her forehead and rubbing her back.

"There she goes, daydreaming again," Scarlett said with a grin. "I think it's safe to say she had a good week."

Covergirl shoved Nomad onto the mattress beside the redheaded beauty, then took a seat beside Lady Jaye. "So…" she prompted.

Nomad knew very well what they were waiting for: details. "So what?" she asked, smiling innocently.

Scarlett bumped her with her shoulder. "_So_, dummy, how was your vacation?"

Lady Jaye rolled her eyes. "More to the point, how was the last _week_?"

Nomad frowned around at the other women. "Am I right in guessing you all knew Lowlight was gonna turn up?"

Jaye, Scarlett and Covergirl all smiled broadly. "Stupid question, huh? Alright, whose idea was it?"

Covergirl put her hand up. "Mine!" she said.

Nomad sighed, then smiled. "Thanks, Covergirl."

The bubbly blonde waved a hand. "Ah, it was easy. I got Wayne to talk to him."

Beachhead. The big, gruff Ranger and the soft-spoken sniper - though it seemed unlikely - were good friends. Neither of them liked to make a big show of it, of course, but every now and then Nomad had come across them in the mess hall or the rec room, just hanging out.

"Did you go skinny-dipping?" Scarlett teased.

Nomad felt her face flush bright red. She didn't even have to answer.

"I knew it!" Lady Jaye whooped. She turned and smacked Cover girl a high-five. "Fifty bucks for me!"

Nomad groaned. "Don't tell me Ace had -"

"No, not Ace. This one was just between us," Scarlett said airily, leaning over to pull open the top drawer of her bedside table. She pulled out her wallet and threw the money in mock disgust at Jaye.

Nomad ducked her head, still blushing. "I can't get any privacy even when I'm _not_ here!"

"Nope," Covergirl said gleefully. "Now, tell us _everything_."

Nomad raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, well not _quite_ everything."

* * *

><p>There wasn't much to tell, but with the many questions, comments and smart-assed remarks in general it took the better part of an hour to tell the three women about her convalescence - and in particular the few days she'd spent with Lowlight.<p>

While the first two weeks had passed annoyingly slowly, each day dragging on as Nomad tried to find something to occupy herself with, the last week passed all too quickly. Nomad found herself actually _enjoying_ lazing around on the beach with Lowlight, just talking.

"_Talking_, my ass," Scarlett interrupted with a snigger. Nomad flipped her off.

On the third day they'd gone snorkelling and seen the hundred and fifty year old turtle. It had casually swum right by them without a care in the world. Nomad had been buzzed for hours after that - she'd never seen anything like it. She'd never been snorkelling before, let alone seen a huge turtle that close without glass between them.

Apart from that and trying to surf down at the beach near town, Nomad and Lowlight had spent most of the time on their own at the cabin. At one point, Nomad had dozed off on the warm sand and woken up to find herself buried in it, with Lowlight standing over her taking a photo. She had no doubt that it would find its way onto the message board in the mess hall - she'd never live it down.

It had been…nice, having Lowlight around. Nicer than Nomad had expected. She'd actually been a little disappointed that the week had to end, and she'd have to go back to the Pit and share the sniper with the rest of them.

She knew it was stupid, and a little selfish of her; of course they had to go home. They both had jobs to do, and the very nature of those jobs required a certain amount of sacrifice.

Still…Nomad wished she could spend just a _little_ more time with Lowlight…

"And then he drove us back here," she finished.

"Yeah," Covergirl said, smirking. "And I bet you spent more time than you needed parking the car, right?"

Nomad blushed yet again. The former model was right - as she'd opened the door, Lowlight had grabbed Nomad's wrist and pulled her back into the car for one last long, hot kiss that had literally left her breathless.

She was trying to think of a snappy comeback when they heard a knock from the next room. Doc's voice floated in from the corridor. "Anybody home? Covergirl? Nomad?"

Covergirl quickly got to her feet and stuck her head out the door. "In here."

Doc stepped into view, leaning against the doorframe. His eyes fixed immediately on Nomad and studied her critically.

"Hi Doc," she said bashfully, waving.

"How was your vacation?"

"Good."

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I hope you didn't put too much strain on yourself."

Nomad rolled her eyes. "I'm _fine_, Doc. Look." She wiggled her fingers at him. "See? I'll be okay to get back to training tomo -"

The doctor shook his head. "You're not doing anything until I say you can," he said firmly.

"But -"

Doc chuckled. "Thought you might wanna get straight back into it," he said. "Drop by the infirmary at 1500 for your medical. If I think you can handle it, you can start some light training tomorrow."

Nomad beamed. "Doc, you're the best."

"Flattery doesn't work on me," Doc pointed out.

"Dammit."

"And I said _light_ training, you hear?"

Nomad sighed…but it was better than nothing. "_Yes_, Doc, I hear."

* * *

><p>For the first time she could remember, Nomad showed up early for her medical. Doc was tending to a greenshirt - he gestured for her to wait in the room in back for him. Lifeline and Kismet were nowhere in sight.<p>

Nomad cast a curious glance at the greenie to see what he'd done. Doc was holding the guy's hand gingerly - one of the fingers of his right hand was bent at an unnatural angle. It looked like it was dislocated. Still, she couldn't help but wince a little; anything medical to do with fingers now made her eyes water.

"It'll be fine," she heard Doc say as she walked past. "See that girl there? She had almost all her fingers broken a few weeks ago."

Nomad closed the door behind her just as the doctor popped the greenie's finger back into place.

Doc walked in a few minutes later. "Dislocated his finger on the obstacle course," he explained. "Alright, you know the drill."

Nodding, Nomad stripped off to her underwear. "Where's the PIA and Kismet?" she asked.

Doc set the scales, then motioned her to step on. "Off on a training run with some of the greenshirts. I hate to say it, but I don't know if poor Kismet's gonna last very long. As much as I like her, I just don't think she's cut out for the Joes. I hate to quote Beachhead, but…she _is_ soft." He paused. "Nomad, you've put on weight."

Nomad eyed the scales in disgust. Usually sixty five kilos - all muscle - she now weighed sixty eight. "Sixty eight? Dammit!"

"Don't worry. Beachhead'll have you working that off in no time." Doc took hold of Nomad's arm and gently prodded her shoulder. There was a new scar there, still red. "That hurt?"

She shook her head.

Doc slowly raised her arm above her head and rotated her shoulder. "How about that?"

"Nope."

He gave her a look. "Are you sure?"

"It's _fine_, Doc."

"Alright. Show me your hands. Have you been doing those exercises I gave you?"

"_Yes_," she answered, exasperated.

He gave her another look.

"Sorry."

* * *

><p>After her medical - and after Doc had proclaimed Nomad 'medically fit to return to active duty' - Psyche Out wandered into the infirmary with his usual impeccable timing.<p>

"What happened to making appointments?" Nomad wondered dryly.

"Oh, this isn't official," Psyche Out said waving a hand. "I just came to ask you how your leave went."

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

Psyche Out held his hands up defensively. "Why do you always assume the worst?"

She grinned. "Because _you_, shrink, are sneaky." She paused. "Nah, it was good."

Doc left the office, not even bothering to be subtle.

Psyche Out sat at the desk, opening the drawer and taking couple of lollipops from Doc's stash. He passed one to Nomad. "How'd your parents take it?"

She sighed. "Same as always." She put on a nagging voice. "'Why don't you retire? Haven't you been through enough already?' God, it gets so _annoying_." She raised a hand before Psyche Out could open his mouth. "Yeah, I've tried to explain why I won't, but they won't listen."

Psyche Out nodded. "You can see it from their point of view, though, can't you? You'll always be their little girl."

"Yeah, yeah, I know."

The blonde man chuckled. "So, apart from that, how was it? Any nightmares?"

"A few the second week, when I was on my own. Once Lowlight showed up -" Nomad stopped, noticing the look on Psyche Out's face.

He studied his red heart-shaped lollipop far too intently. "Don't mind me. Go on," he said, grinning.

"Were you in on it? Lowlight showing up?"

He shrugged. "I don't know what you're talking about. So, how are you and Lowlight going, anyway?"

Nomad narrowed her eyes. "Is this a professional interest?"

"No, I'm just curious," he admitted. "And…"

It wasn't like Psyche Out to hesitate. Nomad looked at him. "And…?" she prompted.

"And…I'm not just your shrink, Nomad, I'm your friend, too."

"I know that, Psyche," she assured him. "I just…I don't know why everyone's so caught up with me and Lowlight. Seriously!"

The shrink smiled. "Nobody's really ever seen Cooper MacBride open up like he has with you. With your past, and _his_ past…I think everyone just wants to see the two of you happy."

"God, Psyche, you make it sound like we're gonna get _married_, or something."

It was the wrong thing to say. Psyche Out jumped on it immediately. "You don't want to get married?"

Nomad shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Psyche -"

"Not necessarily to Lowlight. Just in general," he clarified.

"I don't - I mean…" Nomad stumbled for words, flustered. "It's complicated," she said lamely. "There's…stuff. I don't wanna talk about it right now, Psyche, I'm in too good a mood."

The psychologist took pity on her. "Alright. Well…if you ever do…"

"I know where your office is." Nomad stood, putting on a bright face. "Well, I'm gonna go see who's around. I'll see you later, shrink."

Always the gentleman - which Nomad secretly thought was cute - Psyche Out crossed to the door and opened it for her. "Take it easy, Nomad. Don't push yourself too hard first training back, okay? You've had a few weeks off, don't be too down on yourself if you can't do it all right away."

Nomad waved him off. "I'll be fine."

* * *

><p>"Move them feet, Fatso! Ah <em>told<em> you Ah ain't goin' easy on you!"

Nomad, breathing hard, glared at Beachhead as he loped along beside her. It was her thirtieth lap of the motor pool perimeter, and she wasn't keeping up as well as she would've liked. "I'm…not fat!"

Beach smirked. "Course not," he retorted.

The big Ranger was enjoying himself far too much - Nomad had accidentally let slip in the mess hall at dinner last night that she'd put on three kilos during her recovery. It wasn't a massive amount, and she'd have the weight off in a couple of weeks now that she was cleared for some decent training, but Beachhead was rubbing it in every chance he could.

"I'm not!"

"Sure," Beach said, reaching across and patting her gut as they jogged. "Keep tellin' yourself that, Chubby." He sped up, presumably to go yell at somebody else.

Nomad didn't know if he'd intended it or not, the big man had got her fired up. Nomad took a deep breath and spurred herself on, catching up to the rest of the Joes, ignoring the burning in her legs and chest. There were only five more laps; she could do it.

Beachhead was tricky like that - at times, it seemed like he didn't get people at all, and then he'd come out with something like that, which would make Psyche Out proud.

Sometimes, Nomad was pretty sure Beach wasn't as dumb as he looked.

Once they'd finished and were lined up, standing to attention, Beachhead prowled along the line. "Alright, pogues, get down an' gimme pushups! Hundred an' fifty of 'em!" He paused when he got to Nomad. "Only a hundred for you, Chubby."

She glared at him indignantly. "I can do -"

"Not when Doc's watchin', you can't," Beach muttered. "Damn medical officers, interferin' with mah trainin'."

Nomad turned to see Doc standing nearby, watching her intently, and sighed impatiently.

Ah told 'im you were fine, but noooo…'She's still recoverin' from massive injuries, Beach, take it easy'." The big man gave a snort. "How'm Ah s'posed to run PT with medics watchin' over mah gawddamn shoulders?" he asked loudly. He shook his head, exasperated. "You're runnin' the course three times to make up for it."

Rather than be annoyed, Nomad was delighted. It had been a while since she'd run an obstacle course; she'd been looking forward to it all morning. "Deal."

"Did Ah mention there'd be snipers?"

Dammit.

* * *

><p>She had time to grab a quick shower and wash off the sticky black mud and the paint from the snipers' paintball-equipped rifles before her hand-to-hand training.<p>

*Welcome home, Nomad.*

She smiled up at Snake Eyes as the black-clad ninja rested a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, Snakes."

The mute man's hands flew - even though she couldn't see his face through the intimidating black mask he wore, Nomad could tell Snakes was glad to see her. *Ready for some training? Doc said to take it easy -*

"What Doc doesn't know won't kill him," Nomad said impatiently.

*No, but it might kill _you_.* Snake Eyes huffed out a laugh.

She rolled her eyes. "I'm fine, Snakes."

*Yeah, well if you need a break just say so. You can partner Steeler.*

Nomad took her shoes off, grabbed a helmet and gloves and went to stand beside the sandy-haired tank jockey. "Nice to see you've got both eyebrows back," she said with a chuckle.

"Just for that, I'm gonna kick your ass," Steeler retorted.

"Try it," she challenged. "I haven't done any hand-to-hand for weeks. I'm _dying_ for a brawl."

"Oh, you've got one coming," he said, grinning.

Nomad laughed, then abruptly fell silent as Snakes began the lesson.

They started with sparring. Steeler and Nomad circled each other warily - Nomad knew that Steeler mostly relied on his strength to take down his opponents in hand-to-hand; the guy was _strong_ from working on the tanks. Clutch and Breaker had once told her that one time, when the Pit had been locked down for security - something about a giant Cobra robot and bugs, believe it or not - Steeler had opened one of the blast doors manually, by actually lifting the locking counterweight with his bare hands.

And those doors were _heavy_.

Nomad, on the other hand, was fast. It was something she'd learned quickly in Basic - if she was fast enough, she could tough it out with some of the biggest guys around. She liked to take her opponents unawares, maybe with an unexpected crash-tackle or smack to the nose. And she wasn't really one for following the rules - she'd kick a man (or woman) when he (or she) was down if she had to. Not so much in training with the Joes - and she, Covergirl, Lady Jaye, Scarlett and Jeckle never went for the balls in training, it was an unspoken pact with the guys - but in a battle, anything went.

Steeler threw a punch. Nomad darted backwards, narrowly missing what would have been a massive shiner. The tank jockey didn't pull his punches. He never did; he was extremely competitive.

She could use that.

"Missed me," she taunted, grinning broadly at him. "Come on, _hit_ me next time."

Unfortunately, Steeler had sparred with her before. He knew her tactics; he was standing back, letting her make the next move.

From the corner of her eye, Nomad saw Snake Eyes cross his arms as he watched. If she didn't move soon, the ninja was very likely to come over and give her a shove in the back.

She sidestepped right. Steeler moved forward warily, his gloved fists raised.

Nomad dropped as he lashed out, swinging her legs around to catch behind the tank jockey's left knee. He went down heavily on that leg - Nomad got her feet beneath her and tackled him. Steeler used his bulk to flip her over his head; she rolled immediately to her feet and launched herself at him. He stumbled back with an 'Oof' as she rammed her shoulder into his belly - it was becoming a signature move of hers.

They both went sprawling on the mats of the dojo. Steeler literally threw Nomad to the side and stumbled to his feet.

Again, they faced each other - until Snake Eyes stepped between them. Nomad and Steeler both stopped. "Snakes, what -" Nomad started.

He tilted his head at her.

Uh oh. He wasn't happy with her.

*Nomad, don't you use _anything_ I've taught you?* Snake Eyes signed. Nomad could tell just by the way his hands moved that he was exasperated.

"Sure, I do," she said quickly. "Didn't you see the roundhouse kick I -"

*What about blocking? Holds? Defence? Hand-to-hand isn't just about attacking.* The ninja turned to Steeler. *Hit me.*

Nomad heard the sandy-haired man groan. She couldn't really blame him - nobody liked to be the volunteer in one of Snake Eyes' demonstrations. Nevertheless, Steeler drew his muscled arm back and unleashed a powerful uppercut that probably would've taken anyone else's head off.

Snake Eyes simply flashed a hand out, grabbed Steeler's wrist and twisted sideways. The poor tank jockey was on his knees in seconds, his hand yanked right up between his shoulderblades. Snakes applied a little more pressure; Steeler leaned forward to stop his shoulder from dislocating. Snake Eyes had complete control over the other man.

"Alright, I get the point!" Nomad said quickly.

Snake Eyes released Steeler and glanced over his shoulder at her. *Good. But you can work through the kata for the rest of the session. Then, you can show me what you've learned.*

Nomad gulped. Going one-on-one with Snakes was never a good thing.

*Don't worry,* Snakes added. She could tell he was grinning under his mask. *Doc told me to go easy.*

For the first time all day, Nomad was grateful to the doctor. She might need him again soon. Snake Eyes was going to kick her ass. "Sure, Snakes, because you _always_ listen to the Doc, right?"

The ninja's broad shoulders shook as he laughed silently and moved on to instruct the next pair of sparring Joes.

Damn ninja. Underneath the mask, Nomad was _sure _he was smirking.

* * *

><p>"Ooooh…" Nomad flopped onto her bed, ignoring Covergirl as she giggled from the other side of the room.<p>

"So, how do you like being home _now_?" the former model asked.

Nomad managed a weary laugh. "It's still better than doing nothing," she retorted. "Even _with_ Snakes throwing me all over the dojo."

She didn't mention that she'd kind of missed having Lowlight to herself. He'd been busy on the firing range all day; she'd seen him briefly at dinner, but he'd had to eat and run - he had a night session in the trenches to run.

But that was 'Pit life'. Nomad had known things wouldn't be the same when she got back, and she was okay with it.

"Are you _ever_ going to get better at hand-to-hand?" Covergirl wondered.

"I'm _fine_ at hand-to-hand. I can fight. I just can't do all that freaky ninja stuff, that's all," Nomad protested with a grin. "Though I did ask Scarlett if she could give me a couple of extra lessons a week. I need to get better." She paused, then added darkly, "I won't let what happened with Destro happen again."

Covergirl sat up, brushing her hair away from her face. "Nomad, what happened then could've happened to any of us."

"Yeah…I know." Nomad waved the stunning woman's concerns away. "No, don't get all worried and go running to Psyche Out, I'm fine. I'm just saying, that's all."

Still looking doubtful, Covergirl sat back. "Alright."

Nomad could tell that there was something else she wanted to ask - she was biting her full bottom lip. "What?" she sighed.

"Nothing," Covergirl said. "Just wondering why Scarlett, and not Snake Eyes or Storm Shadow."

"Scarlett's as close to a ninja as you can get without actually _being_ one," Nomad explained. "I could've asked Snakes, I guess, but he already takes most of the hand-to-hand. And as if I'd ask Stormy. He beats the shit outta me whenever he can, I'm not giving him _another_ chance."

"You realise he probably already knows? Bet he'll crash your first lesson."

Nomad sighed again. "Yeah…probably. Bet he sits there the whole time, just watching and making smart-assed comments."

"Bet he takes over from Scarlett and beats the shit outta you anyway." Covergirl sniggered.

Nomad nodded, a wry expression crossing her face. "Yep."

* * *

><p>Nomad was sitting in the rec room on her third day back at the Pit, catching her breath after another hard PT, when Breaker stuck his head in the door. "Nomad? You in here?"<p>

She sat up straight on the saggy, comfortable couch and raised her hand. "Hey, Breaker."

"Hi." Breaker grinned, then popped a gum bubble. "Hawk wants to see ya," he said, then held his hand up before she could ask. "No, I dunno what it's about. He's in his office; better get goin'."

Nomad nodded, her heart suddenly beating just a little bit faster. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "Dunno if I'd be thankin' me, Nomad…he looked kinda serious. I mean, more serious than usual."

Uh oh. She'd better hurry up and get to the general's office. "Right."

Breaker offered his hand. She grabbed it and hauled herself off the couch, gave him a quick smile, and hurried out the door.

Why the hell would Hawk want to see _her_? Nomad couldn't think of anything, apart from maybe something mission related. It wasn't like she'd done anything to get herself into trouble…she hadn't been home long enough.

And Short Fuse wasn't around, so she hadn't even gotten into any arguments yet.

Maybe Hawk had a mission for her? She brightened at the thought, hoping that was the case. It had too long since she'd done something useful. She was actually looking forward to getting out in the field, able-bodied and ready to kick ass.

…Well, maybe she wasn't up to kicking ass just yet. Maybe she could start off small - a routine recon op, or maybe just providing security for some VIP…

Yeah, that'd be easy…

She stopped in front of Hawk's door and took a deep breath. It didn't matter how many times she'd stood out here - and there'd been a few times, both good and bad - she always got a few little butterflies in her stomach.

Hawk seemed to have that effect on people.

She didn't want to keep the general waiting. She knocked on the door and stuck her head in when he called. "Hi, sir. You wanted to see me?"

He was sitting at his desk, his eyes fixed on a manila folder in front of him. Nomad frowned to herself - the folder was closed, and there was no writing on the front of it.

"Take a seat, Nomad," Hawk said, gesturing to the familiar chair opposite him.

His sharp-featured face was carefully blank. He wasn't using his general's voice - the no-bullshit tone he used when giving a brief. He sounded…worried?

No, not worried. Not quite. More…wary?

…But what could Hawk have to be wary about in his own office? Nomad wasn't a threat, not to him. Hell, not even the _ninjas_ were game enough to try anything in here.

Nomad perched herself on the edge of the chair.

The general rested an elbow on the desktop and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was wearing his dress greens today - Nomad couldn't help but stare at the sheer number of decorations on his chest. And those were only the ones that he _could_ display; she was pretty sure there'd be a few more locked away in a vault deep in the Pentagon, waiting for the (sad) day the Joes were no longer together.

Eventually, he sat back in his seat and looked at her, his blue eyes sharp. "I know you were hoping for a mission," he said bluntly. "But I don't have one for you."

Dammit. Nomad made a conscious effort to stop her shoulders slumping. "General, I wasn't -"

He raised an eyebrow.

"Okay, maybe I _was_ kinda hoping…" she admitted bashfully.

Hawk nodded. "Both Doc and Psyche Out have told me they've cleared you for duty."

"But…?" she prompted.

"I still need Beachhead's okay."

Nomad swore to herself. The big Ranger was still making fun of her for putting on weight. "Is that why you wanted to see me, sir? Because I'm working on -"

She broke off as Hawk shook his head. "No. The reason I called you in is because I have some news, and you're not going to like it."

News? What news could he have? Good or bad? No…maybe someone had been…

Who was on missions? Dusty, Torpedo, Leatherneck, Short Fuse, Lifeline and Kismet and some of the other greenshirts…plus more Joes than she could count on both hands.

Nomad looked at the general, feeling her heartbeat quicken. "News?" she asked cautiously. "About what?"

Hawk watched her carefully. But when he finally answered, it wasn't what Nomad had expected to hear. It was the _last_ thing she'd expected.

"Nomad…Goldilocks escaped from Leavenworth."


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, so this chapter didn't exactly go to plan...but I do like where it ends, even though it IS a little short. Next chapter will be a mission, with action and blood and maybe even an explosion.

In other news, I GOT MY LAPTOP BACK! Two months of getting fixed...and now I can play Plants vs Zombies again when I'm stuck. That always used to help...mmm. Brains. :D

Thanks to theonewhowrotetatertots for putting up with my emails and helping me figure out the mission...and for introducing me to Nomad's song :P, blackrosewitch1996 (I didn't forget it this time!) for pestering me to keep writing, and to Captain Rocket for letting me steal an idea for another fic :D ...I'd been wondering how to get it started for a looooong time.

And thanks to everyone who reviews! They make my day! I try to get back to everyone, but sometimes I forget...

ANYway, on with the show! (Mission, next chapter - promise!)

* * *

><p>Hawk may as well have punched her in the gut. That was what it felt like - his words left her reeling, the wind sucked from her lungs. Her throat tightened up; she couldn't catch her breath.<p>

The general half-rose from his seat, the carefully blank look replaced - briefly - with one of concern. "Nomad -"

She waved him down. "I - I'm fine," she said, a little more sharply than she'd intended. "I…he…" Nomad took a deep breath. She had to get it together. She didn't want Hawk to see just how much the news had affected her.

She was a Joe; she had to be better than this.

"Here."

For the first time, Nomad noticed the coffee mug on the desk. Hawk slid it across to her; it was filled with water. The man had been prepared.

She bought herself some time by sipping slowly, holding the mug in both hands - she was shaking so much she was afraid she might drop it. She looked anywhere but at the general. He waited patiently; Nomad could feel his sharp eyes on her.

"Hawk…how? When?" she asked when she finally trusted her voice not to catch.

The general opened the manila folder on the desk in front of him and flipped through the several pages in it. After a few moments, he found what he was looking for. He slid a glossy piece of paper out and spun it around for Nomad to see.

She craned forward to peer at the black and white still capture from a surveillance camera. Three men were walking down the middle of a hallway with closed doors on either side. Nomad had never been to Fort Leavenworth, but she recognised a prison when she saw one.

And there he was, between the two others - towering over them, wearing prison coveralls with the top half loose and the sleeves tied around his waist. The white t-shirt he wore stretched tight over his massive chest. He wore prison cuffs; his hands were held so that none of the real guards would notice, but from the elevated angle of the camera, Nomad could tell that the cuffs were only loosely fastened.

She would never forget that face. It was seared into her memory: that man had featured in her nightmares for the best part of a year.

Prison didn't seem to have affected Goldilocks at all. Some men didn't do so well - they lost weight, didn't sleep. Nomad had heard stories about what happened to some people in prison, and the odd code of honour that the inmates seemed to live by. Goldilocks had murdered his own soldiers and gone MIA. That wouldn't have gone down too well with some of the other ex-soldiers in Leavenworth.

Nomad didn't know what she'd expected, but he looked exactly the same as he did when she'd last seen him, outside the Pentagon after the court case.

He shouldn't have even been in Leavenworth in the first place, but he'd bought his way out of a lethal injection. Or at least, that's what Archer suspected.

Nomad tore her eyes from the black and white image of the man who'd cut her up and turned her attention to the smaller man on Goldilocks' left side, holding onto his elbow. He was wearing the uniform of a Leavenworth guard rather than that of a Crimson Guardsman, but she recognised him, too. She tried - unsuccessfully - to repress the shiver that rolled down her spine. "Sir…that's Andy."

The general looked at her sharply. "Are you certain?"

Nomad returned the look and tried hard to keep the dry tone from her voice. "I'm certain."

Hawk reached over and tapped the third man in the still. "Do you recognise this one?"

Nomad glanced at the picture again. While the image was perfectly clear everywhere else, the third man - on Goldilocks' right side - was fuzzy, and his head was tilted down.

She shook her head. "No. Sir, why's he all blurry when the rest of -"

"You noticed," Hawk said, nodding. "It's Zartan. His holographic devices don't fool cameras as easily as they fool eyes."

"Zartan?" Nomad raised the picture closer to her eyes, squinting, as if the image would suddenly become clear. Of course, it didn't work.

She'd come across Zartan once, but not personally. He'd shot Jeckle in the gut on her first mission as a Joe, and killed Jeckle's best friend, Heckle, also on her first op.

Cobra.

Goddamn it.

Nomad threw the photo down in disgust and slammed herself back into the chair. Now that the initial shock was beginning to wear off, she felt her temper starting to bubble up. So Cobra had sprung Goldilocks from prison. The fucking son of a bitch was out. How the _hell_ did he keep managing to weasel his way out of things?

And why would _Cobra_ want him, anyway? There were enough disgruntled, disillusioned, jaded soldiers out there without having to risk busting them out of a maximum security facility. So why -

Her eyes flicked to the photo again, and she noticed something else. Snatching it up, she stared at the timestamp in the bottom corner. "Hawk," she said, not quite able to keep her voice from shaking, "this is dated only a couple of days after the Cobra Island op. The day I was debriefed."

The general nodded warily. "Yes. That's the day he was broken out."

"Why didn't anyone tell me?"

Hawk's voice remained quiet, but his tone grew stern. "We - the medical team and I - thought it best not to tell you until you were fully recovered."

"Sir, all respect to your rank, but I should've been told -"

Hawk sat up straighter and eyed her. "It sounds like you're questioning not only my judgment, but Psyche Out and Doc's, as well." His tone made it clear that he wasn't impressed - Nomad was very close to getting herself into trouble again.

"No, sir, I'm not questioning anyone," she said quickly. "But…why'd you wait so long to tell me?"

"You were recovering from major trauma. Both Psyche Out and Doc advised against putting any undue stress on you."

Nomad pressed a hand to her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. "Okay. Okay. I get that, sir, but -"

Hawk narrowed his eyes and he leaned forward, the decorations on his chest clinking softly. "That's enough," he stated.

Nomad almost snapped. She was so close to it; her temper was getting the better of her. She wanted to…well, she wanted to yell at Hawk.

That was _not_ a good idea. Nomad mentally shook herself and made a conscious effort to unclench her fists.

Obviously, she didn't hide it well enough. Hawk pointed at her warningly. "I want to make myself clear, Nomad," he said. "We will _not_ be focusing on recapturing Goldilocks. At the moment, we have bigger things to worry about."

Nomad closed her eyes for a moment. Of _course_ they had bigger things to worry about. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry. The neurotoxin missiles?"

"That's right. We have just under two months before the missiles are supposed to be ready, and we still don't know _where_ they're being produced or even if Cobra has all the components yet." Hawk met her gaze. "I need all my soldiers focused," he added pointedly. "I don't want to have to do it, but if you don't think you can deal with this, I _will_ restrict you to duty in the Pit."

Nomad took a deep breath. Well…it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it. What was done was done. The only thing she could hope for was that maybe, if the Joes came across Goldilocks in a battle, he wouldn't survive. Or he was at least captured and went back to prison. And the only way that she could possibly have a hand in either of those options was if she was out in the field with the rest of the Joes. "Sir, there won't be any problems," she stated.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, general."

He didn't appear to be convinced.

"Sir, you have my word as a Joe," she added quietly. "He broke me once. I'm not gonna let him do it again. Cobra, either. It's just…I wasn't expecting it, that's all."

Hawk leaned back in his chair. He studied her for a long time. "Alright. I'll trust your judgment," he said finally. "But there'll be no warnings, Nomad. You do anything stupid, you're suspended. Have I made myself clear?"

She nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good."

"Uh…sir?" Nomad asked hesitantly, pressing her luck.

He looked up.

She gestured to the photo on the desk - it was crumpled. She must've scrunched it in her fist at some point without realising it. "I don't suppose I'd be allowed to read that -"

"You know all you need to know for now," Hawk told her, and with that, the conversation was over.

"Right. Thank you, sir," she said, heading for the door.

Hawk didn't answer. She cast one last quick glance over her shoulder at him - he was reading the file himself, now.

Nomad closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment. Then, she headed for the training room.

She needed to hit something.

* * *

><p>Each time her gloved fist smashed into the punching bag, she imagined it was Goldilocks she was laying into<p>

It didn't work. Rather than getting all the pent-up anger out of her system, Nomad felt herself getting more and more frustrated every time she hit punching bag. The other Joes in the room were giving her a wide berth - not even Cross Country had come up to talk to her, and he _always_ said hello if he saw her.

Probably just as well he didn't. She would've bitten his head off.

"Thought I might find you in here."

Nomad swiped at the rivulets of sweat trickling down her face and glared around at Psyche Out. "Think of something else I might wanna know?" she asked scathingly before she even realised what she was saying. It just came out - she couldn't help it.

Psyche Out stepped back as she rounded on the punching bag again, pummelling it, adding a few vicious knees and kicks in for good measure. "We thought it best -"

"Yeah, you thought it best I was fully recovered before letting me know that the fucker who cut me up escaped from jail with the _other_ fucker who cut me up. Hawk said. Thanks for that, Psyche Out, it makes me feel a whole lot better knowing you're looking out for me."

From the corner of her eye, she saw the psychologist rub a hand over his eyes. "I'm sorry. It was a bad decision on my part."

Nomad felt a stab of guilt, but in her anger she squashed it. "No shit," she growled.

The psychologist pressed on anyway. "But would it have made any difference if you'd known earlier?"

She turned, ripping the Velcro fastening around her wrists up with her teeth and yanking the gloves off. "No. Yes. I don't know!"

"Look, it's natural to feel -"

"Oh, would you just shut the fuck _up_?" She flapped her arms impatiently and shoved past the psychologist, ignoring Cross Country, Crankcase, Ripcord, Blowtorch and Barbecue as they averted their eyes, pretending (badly) to not be watching her freak out.

Somewhere - vaguely - she knew she shouldn't be yelling at Psyche Out. He was only doing his job, and he'd only been thinking of her wellbeing. But…she was so _angry_. Goldilocks was free, after everything he'd done, and this time there was nothing she could do about it. At least before, she'd been able to get him court-martialled.

"Nomad. _Nomad_!" The shrink hurried after her. "Wait. I understand that you're upset -"

"_Upset_ doesn't even begin to cover it," she muttered.

"Why don't you come and sit down with me?" Psyche Out suggested. "Come on, let's go to the mess hall, we can -"

"So everyone can wonder why I'm -" Nomad broke off, a sudden thought striking her. "Who else knows?"

Psyche Out held his hands up, placating. "Nomad -"

"Does Lowlight know?"

"Let's just talk -"

Nomad looked hard at the shrink, then strode away down the corridor, heading for the firing range.

* * *

><p>Lowlight was standing by the trenches in his familiar dusky grey uniform, his sniper rifle slung over his back and his curly blonde hair sticking out from beneath his beanie. Every now and then, he pressed a button on a small remote, and somewhere in the distance, a man-shaped target would pop up. A few seconds later, the target would flip itself down again as several paintball rounds splattered against it.<p>

Nomad stalked right up to the sniper. "Did you know?"

He didn't turn his attention away from the Joes in the trenches. "Know what?" he asked.

Nomad didn't even know if he looked at her - his red goggles were covering his eyes. Usually, there was something about those goggles that turned her on.

Not today. She scowled. "That -" Say it. Say his goddamn name. "That…Goldilocks…escaped Leavenworth."

The sniper turned to face her, opening his mouth, but he didn't answer straight away - which told her all she needed to know. "You bastard," she spat. "You _did_, didn't you?"

It felt like a muscle in her chest pulled. Lowlight had known, and he hadn't told her. All that week -

"Nomad -"

She spun around to stalk back to the garage, but Lowlight's hand clamped around her wrist before she took two steps. "Let go," she snarled, rounding on him and trying to yank free.

To his credit, the sniper immediately released her. "Nomad, I didn't want -" Lowlight started.

"Why the _hell_ didn't you tell me?" she demanded.

"Uh oh." Gung Ho's head popped up over the edge of the trench, followed by Roadblock's. If she hadn't been so angry, Nomad would've laughed - the awkward looks on the big guys' faces were priceless.

Hell, she hadn't been this mad for a long time…but despite her foul mood, Nomad knew it wasn't because Goldilocks had escaped: it was because nobody had told her before now. She could understand them not wanting to tell her when she was stuck in the infirmary, but what about when she was on leave? How could Lowlight not have told her? How could he spend a whole _week_ alone with her and not fucking think to tell her?

Did Nomad feel a little…betrayed?

Yeah. That was it. She felt betrayed.

The sniper reached for her again. She smacked his hand away furiously.

"Nomad, I wanted -" he tried again.

"You wanted _what_?" she hissed. "You had a whole week with me, and you didn't say a goddamn _thing_. What am I, Lowlight, just a good fuck? Is that all you wanted when you showed up?"

She heard Gung Ho draw in a breath, saw both him and Roadblock cringe.

There was a sharp edge to Lowlight's voice when he spoke next. "For god's sake -"

Right now, Nomad didn't care. She turned away and headed for Garage 2 - where she saw Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll both hurry back inside to pretend they hadn't been watching.

"Nomad. _Nomad_!"

She heard a quick scuffle behind her. She didn't glance back, but she heard Gung Ho say quietly, "Let 'er go, man. Give 'er time to cool off. She just needs to get it out."

* * *

><p>Gung Ho was right - she needed to get it all out. All the anger, the frustration - and if she was <em>really<em> honest with herself, there was a little bit of fear in there, too.

What would happen if she came across Goldilocks on a mission? What would she do?

…What would _he_ do?

"Nomad."

She snapped her eyes open to see Storm Shadow frowning at her. He was sitting across from her, mirroring her position; sitting cross-legged, his hands resting lightly on his knees. "What?"

"You're thinking. Stop it." He paused before adding, deadpan, "It shouldn't be too hard for you."

She scowled. Even when he was trying to be helpful, he managed to throw a few insults in. Still, she closed her eyes again, took a deep breath, and tried to sit still.

She wasn't sure she liked closing her eyes with Storm Shadow sitting only a metre away.

"Nomad. Stop. Fidgeting."

"_Sorry_."

After completely freaking out at Lowlight - which Nomad already regretted doing - she'd headed back to the training room, keeping an eye open for Psyche Out. She didn't want to talk to anybody; all she wanted to do was work out until she was too tired to do anything but stumble back to her room and collapse on her bed in a sweaty, aching heap.

Of course, things were never that easy in the Pit. Storm Shadow had been in the training room, and as she'd passed him he'd given her a knowing, _almost_ compassionate look.

She'd strapped her gloves on and began bashing up the punching bag again, trying to forget everything for at least a few minutes. Working up a sweat felt good.

Then, without warning, somebody tapped her on the shoulder.

She automatically spun, throwing a punch. She hadn't meant to, but she was distracted.

Luckily, it was only Stormy, and he deflected the punch easily. "Be nice," he'd said. Then he'd looked at her thoughtfully. "Hate to tell you, but I don't think the punching bag's working. Why don't you try something different?"

Well…it wasn't like she had anything better to do. So here she was, sitting opposite the smart-assed ninja in the empty, dimly lit dojo, attempting to meditate.

It wasn't working very well. She couldn't clear her mind, no matter how much 'pure, white light' Storm Shadow said to envision.

"This isn't working, either," she complained impatiently, opening her eyes and sprawling back onto the mats.

Storm Shadow sighed. "Have you thought that maybe it's not working _because_ you keep saying it's not working? Close your mouth, stop talking, and clear your mind."

"I _can't_."

The ninja opened his dark eyes and looked at her. "_Can't_ is not a Joe word," he pointed out.

"I thought that was a Ranger saying." Nomad rolled to her feet.

"That's 'surrender'," Storm said. "Then again, if we're going by Beachhead standards, a _lot_ of words aren't Ranger words."

Despite herself, Nomad chuckled. "Yeah, well…sorry, Stormy, but I don't think meditating's my thing. I'll stick to the punching bag."

"If you say so." Storm paused, tilting his head to one side slightly. "Hmph. Duke's coming."

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "I hate it when you do that," she said amiably.

"Jealous?"

"Oh, sure."

The door opened and the top sergeant stuck his blonde head in the door. "Nomad, I want you in my office in five minutes."

Nomad looked at him questioningly. "Why?" she asked without thinking.

Duke narrowed his eyes at her.

"Right. On my way."

Duke didn't bother shutting the door behind him. As Nomad crossed the dojo, Storm bounced effortlessly to his feet and followed. "Nomad."

"Yeah?" She ducked aside automatically as Storm raised his hand, then blushed and grinned bashfully as all he did was pat the top of her head.

Storm Shadow rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I'm not the only one who thinks this, but if I ever see him…" His voice trailed off, but the dangerous glint in his eyes said it all.

Nomad felt a rush of gratitude for the ninja. Sure, he was a smartass, and yes, he did his best to piss her off whenever he could…but he _had_ saved her life on many occasions. "Thanks, Stormy."

"You better get to Duke's office."

* * *

><p>Nomad reread the mission briefing, raising her eyebrows. "Wait a second," she said, sitting back in her chair and glancing at Duke. "You want us to pose as Secret Service? To guard the <em>President<em>?"

In the seat beside her, Beachhead slapped his own documents down on the desktop. "That's what it says, don't it?" he asked impatiently. "Duke, are we gonna hafta wear monkey suits?"

Duke cracked a rare grin. "Yes, you are," he said firmly. "You'll have to go pick them up when we're done here."

Beachhead cursed under his breath. "Ah _hate_ wearin' suits."

Nomad raised a hand, earning herself an exasperated look from the hulking Ranger beside her. "Why us?" she asked. "No, I don't mean me and Beach…why Joes? Aren't his own guards enough?"

Duke shrugged. "The big boss requested us. What else is there to say?"

Beachhead grinned and nudged Nomad. "Ah guess we're just that damn good."

* * *

><p>They were shipping out early the next morning. Hawk was already gone: he was honchoing this op. He was going to meet them at - of all places - the White House itself. Apparently, he didn't trust either of them to be alone with the President.<p>

Probably a wise move on his part. Nomad was somewhat notorious in the Pit for butting heads with authority figures. And Beach…well, Beach was Beach.

Although Nomad was pretty sure both of them would hold their tongues in the presence of POTUS himself. Neither of them were that stupid.

It was - supposedly - going to be a short, simple job. The President was to make a few appearances and speeches in public, go to a few meetings, and he wanted - or his advisors had wanted - some extra security, just in case.

Of course, as Psyche Out had told her once, sometimes the 'simple' missions were the ones that fucked up the most.

Nomad checked the gear spread out on her bed again. She had her small earbud-style radio headset; her gun in its shoulder holster (unfortunately, it was only a small handgun - assault rifles were a little too obvious for this op), her silver ninja knife in the sheath she could fasten around her wrist, plus a pair of even smaller guns that she could strap to her ankles.

And, of course, the dreaded suit.

Beachhead was right. Suits were bad. Nomad had already been to the indoor firing range, just off the training room, for some practice - she found the tailored shirt and jacket uncomfortable. It didn't hinder her movements - she could move just as well in the suit as she could in her BDUs - it just felt weird.

Oh well. If she had to - and hopefully she wouldn't - she could just ditch the jacket and cut the sleeves off the shirt. At least she didn't have to wear a skirt.

Nomad glanced at her watch and sighed, sinking down onto the bed. She needed something to do; it was just past midnight, and of course she wasn't tired yet. She needed something to keep her mind off -

No. She wasn't thinking about that. It was going to be a bad enough night already; Nomad _knew_ she wasn't going to sleep well.

Well…there _was_ one more thing she had to do before she shipped out. She wasn't looking forward to it, but she had to.

Just in case.

* * *

><p>The only light in the rec room was a soft bluish glow that came from the TV. The volume was turned down so low Nomad could barely hear it.<p>

Of course Lowlight was in here. Thanks to her, his day had been probably been pretty crappy, too.

God, she was such a selfish bitch.

The sniper was lying on the saggy, well-worn couch. His feet were sticking out over one arm - it was only a two-seater sofa, too short for anyone to stretch out on completely (although tiny Jeckle came close).

Nomad tiptoed across the room leaned over the back of the couch, peering down at the sniper. One arm was behind his head, the other hung off the side. His eyes were closed. Nomad smiled to herself, resisting the urge to reach out and touch his face. He looked so sweet when he was asleep…

Oh well. If Lowlight was asleep, she wasn't going to wake him up. Like her, the sniper needed any sleep he could manage to get.

Nomad puffed her cheeks out before heaving a quiet sigh and turning her attention the TV. She recognised the movie straight away; she grinned as the kids on the inflatable yellow banana boat started screaming when the giant, incredibly fake-looking shark attacked.

Great movie. It was one of her favourites. She wondered if she'd disturb the sniper if she sat in front of the couch to watch.

Nomad looked down again to try and gauge how deeply asleep Lowlight was - only to find him looking back at her. She jumped, startled. "I - I thought you were asleep."

"Just resting my eyes," he corrected coolly.

He was angry with her. Nomad didn't blame him; he had every reason to be angry, after what she'd said. "I…didn't mean to wake you up."

Lowlight peered at her and, as usual, saw right through her. "Whatever you want to say, just say it."

She shifted her weight from one leg to the other nervously. How could Lowlight know her so well? With one look at her, he could figure her out - even when she tried to hide how she was feeling. He might not know exactly what she was _thinking_…but he always knew when something was on her mind.

Lowlight sat up, hooking his arm over the back of the couch. "Well?" he prompted.

Nomad leaned her elbows on the sofa too, lacing her hands together and staring intently at them so she didn't have to meet his eyes. She knew that _he_ knew what was coming - and they _both_ knew he deserved it.

It didn't make it any easier. She'd never liked admitting she was wrong; she'd always been stubborn like that. "I'm…sorry for going psycho at you before."

Lowlight nodded, but said nothing, apparently waiting for more.

It came without her even thinking about it. "It's just…I thought that everything with…_him_. Goldilocks - I thought it was finished. I mean, at least for another few years, you know?"

For a long time, he scrutinised her, his blue eyes boring into hers. Then he patted the cushion beside him.

Nomad wandered around the couch and sat warily on the edge. Why wasn't he saying anything?

Lowlight pulled her close, pressing her head to his chest as he stroked her hair reassuringly. "I couldn't tell you," he admitted finally.

"I know," she said. "Hawk said -"

"That's not the reason," Lowlight interrupted. "I couldn't tell you because I didn't want to see you upset. I've never seen you as happy as you were that week. I wasn't gonna be the one who brought you down."

Great. Now she felt even worse. "Coop, what I said was -"

Lowlight shook his head. "You just found out the bastard who tortured you escaped from prison. If that's not a good enough excuse to be upset, I don't know what is."

"But I was -"

"Forget it," he said gently.

And that was it. Discussion over. Nomad closed her eyes and gratefully relaxed against the sniper. "I ship out in a few hours. Me and Beach have a President to bodyguard. I just…I wanted to make sure we were good before I go. Just in case."

"We're good," Lowlight assured her. He shifted beneath her, getting comfortable. "There's a marathon on," he said. "Three more giant fake shark movies, all of them bad."

"Oh. You want me to keep you company in case you get scared?" she asked, tickling his ribs.

The sniper's chest shook as he chuckled quietly. "Sure."

Nomad smiled. Again, she knew what he knew: it was Nomad who needed Lowlight, not the other way around.

"Nomad?"

"Yeah?"

"I…"

She waited, but when the sniper uncharacteristically didn't go on, she tilted her head. "You what?" she prompted.

For a moment, it seemed like the sniper was debating something with himself. "Never mind," he said eventually. "Don't worry."

It wasn't like Lowlight to back away from saying something. Nomad gave him a look, but figured the least she could do was let it drop. "Okay."


	8. Chapter 8

Mission time! Yaaaay!

I'd just like to say that I have no idea what goes on at the White House, or the security protocol or anything, so yeah, I kinda just made all that up. Pretty much the same goes for the Secret Service – no idea. So all the stuff ups there are mine… I'll call them artistic licences :D Heh heh.

So I've just caught up on a few of the Disavowed comics – Devil's Due, or whatever they are. I really wanted to like them…but I just can't seem to get into them as much. Though the pictures _are_ pretty.

As always, thanks for reading and reviewing! Reviews me something to check up on when I'm slacking off at work! :P

Oh…yes, I have realized that I seem to like elevators.

* * *

><p>"Gawddamn fuckin' monkey suits…"<p>

Nomad failed to stifle a snort as Beachhead tugged irritably at first his tie, then the collar of his crisp white shirt, and then the sleeves of his jacket.

"You keep laughin' an' I'm gonna chuck you outta this gawddamned chopper, you hear?"

Nomad covered her mouth with her hand and glanced sideways at the Ranger. "Sorry, Beach," she said through her giggles.

Beachhead glared back at her. "Don't lie to me. You should be grateful Ah told Hawk you're fit for missions."

"I am," she said quickly. "Very grateful. It's just…you look so funny in a suit…"

A rumbling growl came from deep in Beach's chest. Nomad turned away from him before she started laughing even harder, looking out the chopper windows over the city. Behind her, Beach grumbled to himself, rolling his shoulders uncomfortably and tilting his head from side to side until his neck cracked loudly.

Still, Nomad grinned to herself. Despite all his complaining, Beachhead didn't actually look too bad. In fact, even Nomad had to admit he looked quite attractive - the black suit fit him nicely, and he'd combed his hair (for only the second time Nomad had seen in her time at the Pit). It was too bad Covergirl hadn't been at the Pit - she'd taken a couple days off to visit family - she would've appreciated seeing Beach all scrubbed up.

At least for a few minutes before she started laughing at him.

As for Nomad…well, at least Lowlight thought she looked okay.

She'd reluctantly extricated herself from the sniper's arms and left him asleep on the rec room sofa to go get ready. When she'd stepped out of her room, he'd been leaning against the wall, waiting for her. His lips had twitched, but he hadn't laughed. She'd told him to shut up, anyway.

He'd gone with her up to the garage, where she and Beach would hitch a ride with Clutch to McGuire airfield. Just before the personnel elevator stopped, Lowlight had grabbed Nomad's sleek ponytail and tugged her head back, his other hand squeezing her ass, pulling her hard to him and kissing her fiercely. Then he'd let go, and the doors slid open, and they'd both walked out like nothing had happened - except Nomad had forgotten the briefcase her gear was stored in and she had to duck back into the lift and get it, blushing brightly and telling Lowlight - who hadn't said anything, but he'd raised an eyebrow - to shut up again.

"'Bout time," Beach said, elbowing her in the ribs and jolting her from that pleasant thought. "You ready?"

"As I'll ever be," she answered, sitting up straighter.

It wasn't good enough for him. "You _better_ be," he said, eyeing her critically. "This ain't -"

"Beach. Don't worry," she said.

"Well…just keep your mind on the job. We ain't got time to be thinkin' 'bout personal shit right now."

"I _know_," she said, exasperated. "Look, you're not the only one who had to okay me for duty again: Doc and Psyche Out did, too, and they say I'm good to go."

He looked at her for a moment longer, then shrugged. Grinning slightly - score one for her - she bravely reached up to straighten his tie and pat down a bit of hair that was sticking up. She resisted the urge to either pinch or slap his cheek lightly; her survival instincts kicked in.

He grunted his thanks (score two), and Nomad turned back to the window, where she could see the White House drawing closer. Despite what she'd just told Beach, she felt the first stirring of nerves in her belly. It might be technically only a small mission, essentially only security - but this was security for the _President_. This was probably one of the most important jobs Nomad could ever be sent on, even if she and Beachhead didn't end up needing to do anything. Like Beach said, she had to stay focused on this one; she couldn't fuck up, not only because they were dealing with the President, but also because she knew both Hawk and Beach would be watching her.

She couldn't think about Goldilocks. Not today.

The chopper landed right in the middle of the back lawn - while normally flight was restricted around the House, an exception had been made for the Joes. Nomad slid the door open and jumped out, the briefcase that held her weapons and headset banging against her leg. Beach followed, his own case in hand.

The chopper lifted off before they'd even run out from beneath the rotor, buffeting them with wind. "Well, that's nice," Beachhead muttered.

"Sergeant Major? Wayne Sneeden?"

Both Joes turned to see a man wearing a snazzy grey suit, glasses and an earpiece running toward them awkwardly, as if he'd never run beneath a moving chopper before. He stood up straight as the chopper rose high enough for the downdraft to lessen to a slight breeze.

"That'd be me," Beach answered gruffly, also straightening to his full (impressive) height.

The man balked only a little, looking up at the big Ranger. "We've been expecting you. This way, please."

Glancing at Nomad with a raised eyebrow and a smirk, Beach gestured primly. Repressing a giggle, Nomad fell into step beside him, and they followed the natty little man to a side door.

"The President is with your general in the Oval Office," the man explained. "You'll be joining them after the security procedures are complete."

"Just dandy," Beach said.

The man either didn't notice or chose to ignore his sarcastic tone.

Once inside, Nomad and Beachhead had to go through the routine security checks. The first room they were shown into was empty save for a couple of tables and four burly, armed security guards. Two more guard stood just inside each door.

Nomad smiled when she heard Beachhead scoff quietly, but he didn't complain when the first two guards took their briefcases and put them on the benches. The remaining two guards checked the gear inside them while Nomad and Beachhead had wands waved over them, then were frisked for concealed weapons.

"Everything seems okay here," the guard checking Beach's case said, closing it and handing it over to him.

Nomad's guard gave her a funny look, lifting the silver knife from its place in the foam packing. "What's this?" he asked suspiciously.

She returned the look. "It's a knife," she said evenly. "I like to have a backup plan."

"You won't be needing -" the guard started.

Beachhead stepped forward and leaned on the table. "It stays," he said in a low voice.

The other man looked at him for a long time and - wisely - gave in. "Right," he said quickly, "well, in that case, everything's in order."

* * *

><p>It took another hour before Nomad and Beachhead were cleared - by the end of it, Nomad wasn't sure why they'd been called in the first place: security seemed pretty tight already.<p>

Eventually, though, the man who'd met them at the helicopter - Timothy - reappeared and ushered them through the halls.

"Here are your copies of the day's schedule," he said, thrusting several pages at them both. "The President's first meeting is at nine o'clock and -"

"We'll read the rest, Timmy," Beachhead said abruptly. "Just take us to see our CO. The sooner we can get prepared, the better."

"Uh, actually, it's Timothy -"

"Whatever."

White House employees looked at them curiously as they followed the man through the corridors of the West Wing, past some of the cushiest offices Nomad had ever seen. Beachhead was all business now, no longer adjusting his suit. He took it all in his stride - just another day at the office. Nomad, however, couldn't help but look around herself in awe. Never in her life had she thought she'd be _here_, about to meet the big boss himself.

Too bad she couldn't tell her parents. Even _they'd_ be pretty impressed with this.

Two Secret Service agents stood on either side of the door to the Oval Office. They eyed Beach and Nomad suspiciously - especially the briefcases in their hands - but remained silent.

Timothy pushed open the door and stepped aside. "If you have any questions afterwards -"

"Thanks, Timmy," Beach said, roughly brushing by him.

Timothy looked at Nomad.

"Yeah, he is," she anticipated, and she closed the door in Timmy's face.

She turned to see Hawk sitting on an expensive-looking leather chair in front of a large desk, his long legs crossed. On the other side of the desk was the President himself, looking relaxed and for all the world like Hawk had just told him a good joke.

Nomad took a deep breath and stepped up smartly beside Beachhead.

Hawk got to his feet and nodded to them both. "Sir, this is Sergeant Major Wayne Sneeden and Corporal Sherry Leona."

It was weird hearing Hawk call someone 'sir'. It seemed…wrong, somehow. Nomad and Beach both snapped off sharp salutes.

"Their codenames are Beachhead and Nomad respectively, but they'll be going by their real names for today." He turned to Beach and Nomad and added, "Just as I will."

Nomad stared. Call Hawk by his real name? Clayton? She wasn't sure she could do that. That was just _too_ weird. She wondered if he'd settle for 'sir'.

The President stood and strode around the desk. "I appreciate you being here," he said, shaking Beach's hand. "I understand that the Joes have bigger concerns at this time."

Beachhead his weight from one foot to the other. "We're just doin' our job, sir. Anythin' we can do to help."

Nomad bit her lip to stop herself from snorting. Beachhead being polite? She wished she had her phone on her - it could've been amusing to record some of it to replay back home.

The President stopped in front of her. Nomad shook his hand nervously, a little dumbstruck. Thank god he didn't say anything - she probably would've just stood there like an idiot with her mouth hanging open.

Instead, he just looked hard at her. She wondered what he knew about her - surely Hawk would've had to provide some kind of background info on her and Beach. What if the President knew about Goldilocks? Would he doubt her?

Stop it. Now wasn't the time.

"Wayne and Shezz are amongst the best of the best," Hawk said. "You can be assured that, if it comes to it, they'll do their job and do it well, sir."

"I have no doubts about that, General Abernathy."

Beachhead gestured to the briefcase sitting by his feet. "Hawk -"

Hawk gave the sergeant major a pointed look.

"Uh…Clayton…" Beach corrected awkwardly, "can we get our gear ready now?"

Good. At least Nomad wasn't the _only _one who was uncomfortable with calling Hawk by his real name.

He just…wasn't Clayton. He was Hawk.

Or sir.

Mostly sir.

"Go ahead," Hawk said.

Nomad felt the President's eyes on them both as they slapped their cases onto his desk and opened them. Beach's contained two huge .45 calibre Desert Eagle pistols, several extra clips and…was that his _balaclava_?

He caught her looking. "What?" he asked defensively, stuffing the green mask into an inside pocket of his jacket.

"Did I say anything?" she retorted quietly, smirking and buckling her knife to her wrist.

"You were thinkin' it," he muttered. "Ah don't feel right without it."

"It'll go real well with the suit."

"Shut it, _Sherry_."

"Make me, _Wayne_."

Hawk cleared his throat.

Nomad glanced over her shoulder to see the President looking at them, eyebrows raised. She and Beach glanced bashfully at Hawk. "Sorry, sir."

* * *

><p>Nomad bounced up and down on the balls of her feet, hands clasped in front of her as she scanned the crowd gathered outside the brand new, state-of-the-art cancer research institute. The walls were made mostly of tinted glass which reflected the dark sky and the streetlights. Inside were fourteen floors of the most high-tech scientific equipment available - already making it a target for terrorists groups like Cobra. The fact that the President was here to officially open the place just increased the threat.<p>

So far, the day had been uneventful - boring, even. Nomad, Beach and General Hawk - who was also posing as a Secret Service bodyguard - had been following the President around to his meetings and appearances, ignoring the dark glances from the six _real_ bodyguards also accompanying him.

Nomad couldn't really blame them - it was just like somebody new joining a military unit; it was hard to trust somebody with your life - or those of your team - when you didn't know them.

"- and I have no doubt that this institute will lead the way in future developments in cancer treatment, and one day, hopefully, maybe we can even find a cure."

Nomad straightened as the President finished his speech to thunderous applause from the spectators. Cameras flashed, reporters surged forward to fire more questions at him as he stepped away from his lectern and off the temporary platform, surrounded by his regular bodyguards. Nomad, Beach and Hawk stepped forward to shepherd them away. Now, the President would head into the building for a full tour.

As the crowd fell back, Hawk moved ahead of the group. Beachhead and Nomad fell into step behind the Secret Service men, exchanging relieved glances. So far, so good. Only a couple of hours to go, and then their mission would be complete.

Nomad surreptitiously tapped the polished wood reception desk as she passed.

Hell…it couldn't hurt.

* * *

><p>Goldilocks watched the whole thing through a pair of digital binoculars, listening in via a directional mike held by the Techno Viper sitting beside him.<p>

"_General, alpha team is in position. All troops are at their stations and waiting for go._"

"Good. Wait for my signal. Target is heading inside now."

"_Yes, sir_."

General. Sir. It hadn't taken long to get used to that again.

At first, Goldilocks' attention had been focused solely on the President. He was, of course, the main target. _He_ was the reason Goldilocks and his new unit of Cobra troops were there - the reason Cobra Commander himself had sent them.

Goldilocks couldn't stand Cobra Commander. The guy was an idiot, on the brink of insanity. How he'd lasted this long in charge of the terrorist group, Goldilocks didn't know.

But he'd had the freak, Zartan, and that other little Andy creep bust him out of Leavenworth. Goldilocks still wasn't quite sure why.

They were all crazy. He didn't trust any of them. They all had their own little schemes going on, their own hidden agendas - especially that arms dealer and his bitch, whatever her name was.

Then again, so did he. So he'd play along for now.

He'd been studying the Secret Service bodyguards when he'd seen her - a young woman with dark hair pulled back in a sleek ponytail. She stood poised, her head turning from side to side as she scanned the crowd.

He almost didn't recognise her in the black suit - the last time he'd seen the brat, she'd been wearing dress greens, and she'd been pale and tired-looking, with big dark circles under her eyes.

Goldilocks zoomed in a little and couldn't stop himself laughing quietly. Then he keyed his radio. "Nobody takes the female bodyguard," he ordered. "She's mine."

Acknowledgements from the other units crackled in over his earpiece. Goldilocks turned to the Techno Viper. "I want the frequency they're using. Find it."

"Yes, sir."

Goldilocks pressed the digital binoculars to his eyes, still smiling to himself, watching as the little bitch disappeared inside.

This job just got a whole lot sweeter.

* * *

><p>They were so close. So <em>close<em>.

The President's tour was almost finished. For the last forty minutes or so, Nomad, Beach and Hawk had followed him around the building, slowly moving from floor to floor until, five minutes ago, they'd reached the fourteenth. It looked like your typical lab - desks, metal workbenches, microscopes, computers, lots of thick, heavy-looking books, and a whole lot of equipment that Nomad didn't even recognise. A small section of the room was separated from the other by a wall which ran the entire length of the lab, the top half of which was made of glass. On the other side of this dividing wall was a storeroom which held chemicals, more equipment and who-knew-what else.

Nomad didn't understand most of what was said by the group of white coat wearing scientists showing them around the lab. It was pretty obvious that the President didn't, either - his responses consisted mainly of smiling and nodding and 'Okay, so what does _this_ do?'.

It was kind of nice to know that even the President was as clueless as Nomad about something.

And then it happened. They were just heading for the elevator when the lights flickered, and suddenly the room went dark.

No backup power came on - which it should have, in an important place like this. Nomad was immediately on edge, her hand inside her jacket and resting on the butt of her gun. From the corner of her eye, she saw Beachhead tense. The Secret Service guys drew closer to the President, urging him toward the middle of the room where they couldn't be cornered as easily.

"Eyes open, Nom - Shezz," Beach said quietly. "This ain't ri -"

_SHWAP_!

Nomad jerked as a spray of warm red mist covered the left side of her face and the Secret Service man beside her crumpled to the ground, half his head blown away and spraying a bloody mess all over the floor. She spun, pulling her gun even as she shouted. "Down!"

Two of the bodyguards literally threw themselves on the President, tackling him to the floor and shoving him back against the dividing wall. The other three drew guns from the shoulder holsters under their jackets and formed a protective circle around him.

Another round zinged past her, punching a hole through another bodyguard's chest. Nomad whirled, spotted -

What the hell? One of the _scientists_?

Beachhead dropped the would-be assassin with a shot from one of his massive Desert Eagles.

"You two take point!" Hawk ordered, pointing to Nomad and Beach. "I'll take drag! You know the drill!" He raised a hand to his earpiece. "Mutt! Law! We need you outside! Secure the garage!"

Mutt and Law were here, too? Nomad hadn't known that. Trust Hawk to have an ace hidden up his sleeve.

"_On it_!" Law's voice answered promptly.

"_You got it, sir_!" Mutt added.

More rounds sizzled through the air around them from several points in the room. Nomad fired randomly to the right as Beachhead fired to the left, and they pushed their way to the front of the gaggle of bodyguards. "Shit's really hit it now, ain't it?" the Ranger muttered, crouching down and giving the President a quick once over. "An' here Ah was, thinkin' this was gonna be a _good_ day."

"No such thing, Beach," she retorted. "Mr. President, sir, if you'd just follow us…"

Now that the power had been cut, they had to take the long way down - they had to go for the stairs, which meant that Nomad and Beachhead would have to clear the stairwell first.

Nomad swore to herself. She _hated _stairwells.

But first, they had to _get_ to the stairwell.

"Looks like our scientist buddies aren't our buddies after all," Beach pointed out. "Ah dropped one, an' Ah think Hawk got another."

"There were nine of them," Nomad remembered.

Beach turned to the Secret Service guys and the President. "Awright. We're gonna make a run for the stairs," he said quietly. "Me an' Nomad'll go first, Hawk'll watch our backs. Sir, you stay in the middle of us all. You ready?"

He didn't look like he was, but the President nodded.

"Good. Let's go…_now_!"

Nomad and Beachhead leapt to their feet and took off, bolting for the stairs, guns up, firing as they ran. Nomad took out two of the scientists as they leaned out from behind overturned desks. Behind her, she could hear Hawk's gun booming.

The glass dividing wall shattered. Nomad ducked, shielding her eyes with her arm, but a stray shard nicked her cheek.

She heard a thud. Glancing around, she saw a third bodyguard fall - there were now only three Secret Service guys left.

"Find cover!" Hawk shouted. As she watched, he grabbed the President by the shoulders and literally shoved him over the top of a workbench, kicking it over onto its side just as a wave of bullets ripped into the heavy steel surface.

She and Beach backtracked, leaping over the bench just in time. Nomad felt the breeze as a round narrowly missed her ear. She landed heavily, almost on Hawk's lap. "Sorry, sir."

He ignored her.

"Who are they?" the President was asking.

The Secret Service guys grabbed the legs of another couple of workbenches, tipping them over to create a makeshift nest. Nomad and Beach popped their heads up over the side, only to have another withering hail of fire force them back down.

"Scientists, sir," Beach answered bluntly.

"_What_?"

Hawk shook his head. "It doesn't matter who they are," he said. "We need to get you out of here, and to do that we need to get to the stairs."

"Which just happen to be on the other side of the room," one of the bodyguards, a heavyset man named Thompson, pointed out. He looked at the three Joes suspiciously. "How do we know you didn't set this up?"

Beachhead glared at Thompson. "In case you hadn't noticed, they're shootin' at us too, you fuckin' moron."

"That's enough," Hawk snapped, firing a few shots over the makeshift barricade. There was a short scream: one less gunman to worry about. "We're all on the same side here."

"Sir -" Thompson beseeched the President.

The President gave Thompson a look. "What the general says, goes," he stated.

"But, sir - wait a second…'_general_'? This guy's army?"

"They're _all_ army. Ah…Special Forces, in fact."

Nomad peered around the side of the workbench just in time to see several white-coated 'scientists' disappear behind what was left of the dividing wall, and suddenly the room was quiet.

She didn't like it. Obviously, none of the others did, either - the bodyguards were shifting uncomfortably, Beach was scowling, and Hawk's sharp eyes were narrowed.

Nomad took the time to shrug out of her restrictive jacket, then slid her knife free and sliced the sleeves off her shirt. She noticed the Secret Service guys - and the President - checking out the scar on her arm.

Beach did the same, only he settled for ripping his sleeves. He tucked his tie into his pocket, then grabbed his balaclava and pulled it over his head.

"Well, that's reassuring," the second bodyguard - his name was Denny - said dryly.

It looked like all pretences were over with. Nomad glanced sideways at Hawk. "What's the plan, sir?"

Hawk was about to answer when their earbuds crackled. "_Mutt for Hawk. Sir, Junk's picked up a scent heading from the garage into the basement levels. Law__'s __heading in now; he and Order will try to clear it for you_."

Hawk looked from Nomad and Beachhead to the President thoughtfully. "Sir, are you any good at climbing ropes?"

"What -"

Something flew over the top of their makeshift barricade, hissing and emitting thick, noxious black smoke.

So _that's_ why they'd stopped shooting. Behind the dividing wall, there was literally a whole arsenal of different chemicals to play with.

Nomad smothered the makeshift smoke bomb with her jacket, her eyes already starting to itch and burn, and flung it as far as she could. Another bomb took its place - one of the bodyguards grabbed it and hurled it back over the bench.

"Go!" Hawk urged, glancing at the other two Joes. "I'll stay here and provide some cover fire while you two take the others and go for the stairs. Don't stop for anything. That's an order!"

Nomad nodded, though she didn't like the idea of leaving the general behind. But orders were orders - she didn't have to like them.

"You heard the man, get up!" Beach snapped, booting yet another improvised bomb across the lab. "Don't bother shootin' back, Hawk's got our asses covered! Nomad!"

"Right behind you!"

Beachhead took off for the stairwell on the far side of the room, firing rapidly in the direction of the dividing wall. Thompson, Denny and the last guy, Stewart, flanked the President. Nomad followed behind, skipping sideways, her gun gripped tightly in both hands as she tried to pick off the would-be assassins as they popped into view. Hawk fired quickly - it was like he was playing in a real-life shooting gallery; the President's life was the prize. He was swiping at his eyes - the room was getting hazier, the acrid smoke from the bombs hanging in the air.

And then, just as she reached the stairwell door, one bomb exploded as it landed, splashing liquid fire all over the place. She saw Hawk dive aside, and then she lost sight of him. "Hawk!"

A large hand yanked her roughly into the stairwell. "He can look after himself," Beachhead said gruffly, though his fierce eyes flicked past her for a moment, searching. "We gotta keep movin'." He raised his voice a little. "We go down as far as we can. When we can't go any further, we choose a floor and get to the elevator."

"But the power's out," the President reminded him.

Beneath his balaclava, Beach grinned. "Ah didn't say we were takin' the elevator, sir."

"But -"

They all fell silent as they heard footsteps thundering up the stairs. Nomad glanced down into the centre of the stairwell, only to jerk back as a round sparked off the railing beside her. "Stay near the wall, sir, we got bad guys coming up to meet us."

"Fuckin'…" Beach snarled. "Alright. We go one floor down. Nomad, up front with me."

She did as she was told.

"Gawddammit, it's like tryin' to herd sheep," Beach muttered quietly as they flew down the stairs.

"Well, not everyone can be as good as us, right?" she answered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the President was keeping up. Stewart was limping.

"Ah s'pose not."

Nomad and Beach stopped on either side of the door to the thirteenth floor. "Ah'll go high," Beach said.

She nodded, wiping her sweaty hands on her pants, her heart pounding. She reached for the doorhandle, waited for Beach's nod and then smashed it open. She lunged through it and went down on one knee, gun raised. Beach stormed in after her, covering the other side of the room.

Puffs of plaster dust blew out of the wall as bullets thudded into it. Nomad caught the muzzle flashes of two guns to her right and quickly returned fire, dropping a man and a woman in lab coats. "Dammit, they must have people through the whole building!"

"Well, we ain't plannin' on runnin' through the whole buildin', are we?" Beach retorted. "We -"

He was cut off by a loud scream from the stairwell. Nomad whirled around to see only Denny and Stewart standing by the President. "Where's Thompson?"

"Shot. He went over," Denny said, wide-eyed. "All the way down."

Beachhead swore. "Come _on_."

The Joes led the way through the room, coming across several real scientists, all of whom were bound and gagged. There was no time to stop and untie them - Nomad would've felt guilty if she'd been able to think about it, but her job was to get the President to safety. They'd be safer if the bad guys found them like that anyway - the civilians would be less likely to be seen as a threat if they'd already been subdued.

They hurried down the long corridor toward the lift, Nomad and Beach in front, the two remaining bodyguards behind, and the President between them.

When they reached it, Beach and Denny pried the lift doors open. Nomad watched the President as he leaned forward, looking down the long, dark elevator shaft. "I don't think I can -" he started.

"We ain't got no choice, sir," Beach pointed out. "Stairs are out. Fire escape's not an option; it's too exposed. These guys seem pretty professional; Ah'll just bet they got snipers outside, too."

"You'll be fine, sir. Going down's easy," Nomad pointed out, trying to sound reassuring.

"Me and Denny'll go first," Beach said. "Sir, you'll go next, then Stewart and Nomad."

Beach reached out and grabbed the elevator cable, pressing the sides of his boots to it as if he was rappelling from a chopper. Denny was a little more hesitant, clinging tightly to the cable with his knees.

"You'll want to keep most of your weight in your legs, so squeeze tight with your feet and knees," Nomad advised the President. "I find it helps to have one foot in front of the cable and one behind and squeeze your calf and shin to the cable - you know, kinda like a ballet pose."

"My daughter does ballet," the President said distractedly.

"We're gonna get you home to her, sir. Now, I hate to rush you into this, but we need to move. Now. Oh, and don't slide too fast, or you'll rip the skin off your hands."

With an audible gulp, the President reached out and grabbed the cable, then swung out over the dark, empty space.

"That's it, sir. Now just slide down, like it's a fireman's pole. We all loved them when we were kids, right? Stewart, get in there."

The bodyguard - sweating and pale and looking like he was about to throw up - looked at her. "Who the hell _are_ you?"

She gave him a wry grin. "If I tell you, you might as well stay here."

"But they'd kill - oh."

"Yeah."

Stewart followed the President, just as a door at the end of the hall burst open. Nomad leaped into the elevator shaft just as a storm of bullets zinged past her. "Beach!" she called down. "We've been made! Pick a door and hurry it up!"

His voice echoed back up to her. "Gawd _damn_ it!"

Nomad squeezed her legs around the cable and took all her weight on them, leaving her hands free. She took her knife from the sheath and held it between her teeth, then started to climb.

Moments later, the first of their pursuers stuck his head out into the elevator shaft, peering down it.

Bad move. Nomad - now above the pried-open doors with her feet pressed to the walls and the cable tucked tightly under her arm like she was abseiling - slammed the blade of her knife into the guy's neck and twisted. Blood spurted up over her hand as she yanked the knife out. The body toppled down into the shaft - she heard a sharp cry of horror from below.

Whoever was waiting out in the corridor blasted what seemed to be an entire magazine into the elevator shaft, angling first down, and then up. Nomad climbed up a little further, drawing her legs up and making herself as small as possible.

Her earpiece crackled. "_Hawk, if you're still up there, Nomad could use some help. Floor beneath you, elevator shaft._"

"_Already there, Beach_."

Nomad slid down level with the open doors, coming face to face with three more armed 'scientists', all wearing lab coat disguises.

They stared at her for a moment, surprised. She raised her gun and fired two loud, booming shots into the closest men's faces, blowing them away - one sent a warm shower of blood spraying out into the shaft before he, too, fell into it.

Her gun clicked. She was out of ammo.

She swore. Every time; it _always_ happened at the worst possible moment.

The last 'scientist' grinned at her, bringing up his own weapon. "Heh. Stupid -"

He didn't get to finish. A bullet tore through the side of his neck. His eyes bulged, and he gurgled horribly for a second or two, choking on his own blood before crumpling.

Hawk stepped into view. His suit was torn, and he'd tied one sleeve around his forearm as a makeshift bandage. It looked like he'd gotten into a fistfight.

"Thanks," she said gratefully.

"Let's move." The general stepped over the bodies and reached for the cable.

Nomad loosened her grip on the greasy elevator cable, sliding down until she caught up with the others. Beachhead and Denny had forced open the doors to the ninth floor. Below, she could hear scraping echoes floating up toward them - bad guys already heaving the doors open.

They regrouped. Beachhead, Denny and Stewart had cleared the immediate area - while Nomad and Hawk covered them, they took the time to reload and check injuries. A stray round had clipped Stewart's ankle, but he could still walk. All of them were dirty and a little scratched up. Hawk rebandaged his arm quickly - Nomad caught a quick glimpse of a nasty-looking burn.

"Sir, we can't keep going floor by floor," Beach pointed out. "They have the elevator shaft covered. If Ah was them, Ah'd leave a few men on each floor and send the rest up to meet us. Ah ain't got much ammo left, neither."

"So we find another way," Hawk said.

Stewart flapped his arms hopelessly. "There _is_ no other way. The fire escape'll be covered for sure."

"Yeah," Denny agreed, jerking a thumb at Beachhead. "Sasquatch here already pointed that out before."

Beach glared at the bodyguard. Denny shrugged. "Just sayin'."

Nomad turned away before the Ranger noticed her grinning. Sasquatch was good; she'd have to remember that one.

Hawk's eyes were focused on the door at the end of the corridor. "I think I may know a way. The fire escape's on the east side of the building. We need to get to the west side."

* * *

><p>Nomad, Beachhead, Hawk, Denny and Stewart carefully made their way to the west side of the building, where they found an empty office with a spectacular view of the city lights.<p>

Nomad didn't understand why they'd stopped. The office was a dead end - they were sitting ducks. There wasn't even a decent-sized airvent to crawl into. "Hawk?"

She turned to see him handing something to Beachhead. It looked like a coiled up…_extension cord_?

Oh, no…he couldn't be _serious_…

The general turned, a steely, determined glint in his eyes. "Okay, people. Here's the plan."

As Hawk outlined what he had in mind, the President's eyes - and Denny's and Stewart's - grew wider and wider. "You're insane!"

Nomad almost agreed with POTUS - it was one of the craziest ideas she'd heard. Then again, being a little crazy was kind of a prerequisite of being a Joe. She figured Hawk wasn't exempt from that - after all, he _had_ put the team together.

"If anyone has a better idea…" Hawk said.

The bodyguards and the President glanced at each other.

"Didn't think so." Hawk fixed his eyes on Nomad. "Any objections?"

She shook her head, pressing her lips together tightly, not trusting her voice not to shake.

"Alright. Let's make it quick, the faster we go, the further we get."

Nomad checked her gun, then quickly slammed a new clip into it.

"You ready?" Beachhead asked quietly as she took one end of the extension cord.

"Sure. I just don't see why _I _have to go first," she complained, trying to keep her voice light.

His eyes crinkled around the corners for a brief moment as he smirked. "Well, if you wanna hold this for me, _Ah'll_ go first," he retorted.

Nomad took a deep breath, wrapping the cord a few times around her forearm. Did extension cords stretch? If they did, how far?

"Hey. Ah ain't gonna let go."

"Yeah, I know," she said, squaring her shoulders. Still, he'd made her feel a little better. Not much, but it was something – especially coming from Beach.

This was crazy. Mental. Completely fucking insane.

Totally Joe-worthy.

"I'm set. Let's do it."

Denny and Stewart opened fire on the wall-to-wall glass window, shattering it.

No time to think about it.

Gritting her teeth, Nomad took a run up - and threw herself out the window.


	9. Chapter 9

Next chapter! The last half of the mission...I hope everyone likes the action-ish part of it as much as the last one - I was kinda surprised with some of the reviews, coz I thought it was a bit...blah. So thanks so much for all those awesome reviews! :D

So, anyway, I _had_ to get more Goldilocks in this chapter. I've decided I like writing him...he's fun.

Next chapter may take a bit longer to write and get up...I'm moving house in a couple of days! I can't wait; first time out on my own! Taking a week off work and all, which I need too because I officially hate my job. :D

I'm thinking maybe I should start packing...

* * *

><p>Cool night air hit Nomad's face as she leaped out the window. She twisted her body in mid-air, catching a momentary glimpse of the office where Beach was standing with his feet braced wide apart, knees bent, hands gripping tightly to the other end of the extension cord. Hawk was holding onto the Ranger's belt with one hand. Denny, Stewart and the President watched as she fell. The mixed looks of shock and awe and sheer horror on their faces was actually quite funny. She could hear sirens.<p>

Oddly enough, she noticed all of this. It was as if she wanted to take in every detail before possibly plummeting nine storeys to a messy, splattery death.

Wrong thought. Nomad glanced down - it was a _loooong_ way to fall. The police cars and the fire trucks looked like the little Matchbox cars she used to play with when she was a kid. She'd never really been a Barbie doll girl; it had always been Transformers and Lego and -

Even as the thoughts flashed through her mind, microsecond-quick, she wondered why she was thinking them. Now was _not_ the time.

As she reached the end of her less-than-graceful arc, she raised her right arm - her stronger arm, the one that had the extension cord wrapped tightly around it. She tried not to tense up; if she tensed, her arm would be ripped from its socket when the cord snapped taught.

Which, at that moment, it did. Nomad's shoulder wrenched painfully and the cord bit into the skin of her forearm. Her heart skipped a beat as she dropped another half a metre or so, her weight apparently dragging Beachhead forward. She wasn't quite able to stop a sharp cry of alarm escaping her throat, but - thank god - the big man above held steady.

Forget Sasquatch. If she lived through this, Nomad would never make fun of Beachhead again.

She lifted her gun as the tinted glass window of the eighth floor rushed toward her. She squeezed the trigger once, twice, three times in rapid succession.

The glass didn't break.

Typical.

This was going to hurt.

Nomad drew her legs up, making herself as small as possible as she hit the glass sideways. The three bullets had at least half-done their job, weakening the window with spiderweb-like cracks radiating outward from the frosty-edged bullet holes. She smashed through the plate glass, landing awkwardly on her hip and shoulder on a carpet now covered with glass shards. She rolled to her feet, gun up, breathing hard, blood rushing in her ears. Her eyes flicked wildly around the room.

It was empty. Nobody shot at her. Nobody even came running through the door. She waited a few moments, crouching behind the desk.

Still nobody. Maybe they hadn't heard the racket she'd made? She stood hesitantly, then gave the extension cord two quick tugs. Thirty seconds later, Denny was standing beside her, having lowered himself down the cord.

"That was fucking awesome," he said, staring at her.

"Oh, yeah," Nomad answered weakly, "it felt it." She rolled her right shoulder slowly and picked several tiny slivers of glass from the cuts and nicks on her bare arms. Her hands were still trembling - there was already an angry, snake-like red welt on her right forearm where the cord had pulled tight.

It would've been a whole lot easier if she'd had her assault rifle. She could've emptied the whole clip into the window and shattered it without having to physically crash through with her body.

Nomad missed her rifle.

The President came next, slipping down the extension cord inch by inch, his eyes squeezed shut. Both Nomad and Denny reached for him, pulling him onto solid ground, where he collapsed in a heap behind the desk.

Nomad glanced over her shoulder, feeling a little sorry for him. "You're doing really well, sir," she said, trying to be encouraging and upbeat. She hoped she didn't sound too condescending.

"This is…that was…" The President trailed off, shaking his head.

"Catch your breath, sir," Nomad said, helping the wounded Stewart inside. "We've still got eight floors to go."

"Doing that?" the President asked, aghast.

"Uh…I doubt the extension cord'll last another floor," she replied, eyeing the cord doubtfully. "Especially not after having to hold Beach's fat ass."

"I heard that, scrawny. You wanna _fall_ the rest of the way down?" Beach growled as he swung himself in.

She shook her head. "One floor's enough for me. I think I should get a pay rise for that. And I'm telling Covergirl you threatened to chuck me out the window."

Behind her, she heard Stewart say quietly to Denny, "Listen to them joking. It's like they do this kinda shit every day."

Beach gave a soft 'hmph'. "Wouldn't they like to know?"

Moments later, Hawk joined them, having secured the cord to something on the floor above. "Well, that's another floor down," he said, giving everyone a quick once over.

The President stood up, tossing his suit jacket to the floor and rolling the sleeves of his sweat-soaked shirt up to his elbows. "Well, we can't stay here," he said resolutely. Nomad wasn't sure whether he was trying to regain some control (or dignity), or just trying to hurry things along. "Any more ideas, General?"

"I'm working on it, sir." Hawk tapped his earpiece. "Law, what's going on down there?"

"_Hawk, basement is clear,_" Law answered. "_Repeat, basement clear. Moving onto ground floor now. Mutt and Junk are keeping an eye on the Boss's vehicle. There're cops down here, but I don't think they really know what going on. They're not gonna be much help_."

"Good. Once you clear the ground floor, wait there, we'll -"

The door opened, and three more white-coated assassins peered in. The small group didn't have time to hide. "There they are!"

Denny and Stewart shoved the President down behind the desk. Nomad dived sideways, pressing herself to the side of a bookshelf. It didn't provide much cover but, luckily, she didn't draw much fire.

She leaned around the bookcase and squeezed off a shot. One man's head snapped backwards and he stumbled, knocking the other two off balance before falling face first half-in, half-out the door. He didn't get up. A puddle of blood began to seep slowly into the carpet.

Behind the desk, Denny bobbed up at the same time as Stewart did; both Secret Service men fired at the same time. The two remaining 'scientists' fell to the floor with twin thuds.

Beachhead and Nomad darted forward, Nomad grabbing her man under the arms and dragging him into the room, trying to ignore the soft squelch the bloodstained carpet made under her dress shoes. Beach grabbed the other two by the collars of their lab coats and hauled them out of the way, then stuck his head out the door and glanced both ways before closing it quietly behind him.

Nomad knelt beside Hawk and Beach as they searched the bodies.

"So, Hawk, 'bout those ideas…" Beachhead prompted.

"Still working on them," Hawk admitted, giving the dead man's body a shove when he found nothing of interest.

Nomad took her man's gun and the two spare clips in the pocket of the lab coat. And then she stopped. "Sir…I might have one," she said hesitantly.

Hawk looked at her expectantly.

"What if we give you, Denny and Stewart the lab coats and you all pretend you've captured Beach and the President and me?"

"You think they'll fall for that?" Beachhead asked in disbelief.

"Hey, I almost escaped Cobra Island by wearing a Cobra uniform," she pointed out.

"Yeah. _Almost_."

Hawk paused, glancing back at the President and his bodyguards. "If we move fast enough and try to keep out of sight as much as possible, it might work." He frowned thoughtfully at the dead men, then nodded and grabbed one, lifting his shoulders and stripping the lab coat off. "We'll head for the stairs again. Let's move."

* * *

><p>He listened in as Hawk outlined his plan to the other four - Mutt, Junkyard, Law and Order - over his headset. They clearly had no idea he'd tapped into their frequency and could hear everything they said over the radio.<p>

Nevertheless, the Joe General was deliberately vague - no floor levels, no exact positions. From what Goldilocks could gather, though, they were still relatively high up in the building.

His people hadn't found them yet.

He switched back to the frequency his troops were using. "All units, report in," Goldilocks ordered, scowling at the building in front of him.

Alpha unit, on the fourteenth floor, didn't answer. Neither did Bravo unit, on thirteen. No surprises there - Alpha initiated the attack on the President, when the bodyguards and the Joes were still fully stocked with ammo. Losing Bravo was a little disappointing…but he could live with it.

The units continued to call in. "_Delta unit, here. No sign of them on eleventh floor, sir._"

"_Echo unit. Ditto level ten, General._"

No answer from Foxtrot on nine. The bitch and her team must've made it to at least the ninth floor and taken them out - the rest of the units all responded.

"All units, converge on ninth floor. Flush them out. They may be wearing white lab coats. Remember your orders: the Commander wants the President alive, and _I_ want the girl. Oscar unit, be advised there is a possible two-man threat on ground floor."

"_Yes, sir._"

The Techno Viper turned to Goldilocks. "Is the girl important, sir?"

Goldilocks glanced sideways at the Viper. "It's personal," he said quietly.

"Cobra Commander won't like you risking -"

Goldilocks drew his gun and shot the man in the head. A star-shaped burst of blood and grey ooze splattered over the wall of the utility shed he was standing in front of.

Goldilocks turned his attention back to the building. He couldn't care less about what Cobra Commander wanted. He wanted _her_. And once he got her, he was going to do what he should have done a year ago.

He snatched up the Techno Moron's equipment. He secured the other headset into his ear - now he had an earbud in each ear. He left his on the frequency his unit was using, and switched the other to the Joe channel.

He shouldn't. There were so many other, bigger things he could be doing.

But the fucking little bitch had tried to get him killed.

As he touched a finger to the button on new earpiece, Goldilocks wished he could see her face.

* * *

><p>"<em>Hi, Dynamite. Remember me?<em>"

Nomad missed her step and stumbled. If Beachhead hadn't reached out and grabbed a fistful of her shirt, she would've tumbled face first down the stairs.

That familiar voice…how could he - _how_?

"Keep moving," Hawk muttered quietly from behind her. She knew he'd heard the voice, too - as had Beachhead, Denny and Stewart. "We can't stop."

"_Of course you do_," the voice in her ear continued. "_How could you forget, right? I shot your buddies. Blew their brains out_."

He sounded like he was talking to an old friend - his tone was light, conversational. It chilled her to her core - Nomad's heart felt like it had been turned into a block of ice.

"_From what I hear, you remember me pretty well. I heard_ -"

They didn't get to find out what Goldilocks had heard. At that moment, the door on the next landing down burst open and a group of…well, Nomad figured they were Goldilocks' new unit…poured into the stairwell. There were maybe five or six of them.

"We've got 'em!" Denny shouted quickly.

All part of the plan - and it was enough to make the bad guys hesitate, if only for a second.

That second was all the Joes, Denny and Stewart needed. Beach, Nomad and the President hit the floor as Hawk and the bodyguards opened fire on Goldilocks' men. Nomad snatched up one of the small guns strapped to her ankle - from the corner of her eye, she saw Beach pulling his .45s from behind his back, where they'd been tucked into his belt. Of course, they'd had to either hide or hand over their own weapons - captured prisoners didn't usually get to keep their guns, after all.

The gunfire boomed in the enclosed stairwell. The one second advantage the lab coats had bought them paid off - the 'scientists' didn't know what the hell was going on. One of them managed to retaliate with a wild shot, but the guy dropped immediately after, a splotch of red spreading across his chest.

"Everyone okay?" Hawk asked. "Mr. President?"

There was no answer. Nomad spun around, terrified that the President had been hit by that one round.

The President had blood all over the front of his shirt. Her heart skipped a beat, but then she saw it wasn't his. He was leaning over Stewart - the bodyguard had taken the bullet in the head. A neat little hole in his left temple oozed thick, dark blood and brain matter.

Hawk took the bodyguard's gun and pressed it into the President's hand. "This is yours now."

"But -" The President broke off as Hawk shot him a look.

Below them, yet another door banged open, and footsteps echoed up the stairwell. It was quickly turning into a race - a race to get to the ground floor, where Law and Order were waiting, before they ran out of ammunition.

And luck.

Nomad, Beachhead, Denny and Hawk stocked up on weapons from the dead men, snatching up the guns and whatever spare clips they could find. Then - with grim, determined looks at each other - they hurried down the stairs.

* * *

><p>Mutt glanced around the underground garage, fully alert, on edge. Beside him, Junkyard sat on his haunches, his floppy ears twitching at noises Mutt himself couldn't hear. The wailing sirens from the police cars and fire trucks weren't helping. Every now and then, he reached down to scratch the top of the Rottweiler's head, more to reassure himself than the dog.<p>

He'd heard the other voice on the radio - the guy that'd been taunting Nomad. He was around, somewhere. If Mutt saw him, he'd sic Junk on him with orders to go for the throat.

Mutt liked Nomad well enough. If she had time, she was usually up for helping the dogs train, even if it meant getting padded up and having them try to rip her apart. She was always good to Junk and Order - like most of the Joes, sometimes _too_ good, and he or Law would have to tell her to stop spoiling them.

In Mutt's eyes, that was good enough for him. He would've looked out for her even if she _wasn't_ a Joe.

A growl made him look down. Junkyard was on his feet, shifting from paw to paw like he was standing on a hot surface, hackles raised. It was a deep, rumbling snarl coming from way down in the dog's chest - a warning.

Mutt turned to the President's big black SUV behind him and knocked twice on the rear window, letting the driver know there might be trouble. Then, gripping his gun tighter, he reached down and slapped Junkyard on his powerful shoulder. "Alright, Junk. Find 'im!"

The dog bounded away, toward the ramp that led to the lower level of the carpark. Mutt gave the Rottie a few moments head start - praying, as he always did, that the big dog didn't run into anything too bad - and then he followed.

* * *

><p>Beachhead and Hawk blocked the stairs as more of Goldilocks' men surged up toward them. Nomad, Denny and the President hung back a little, with she and the bodyguard leaning out over the railings and trying to pick off the guys spread out further down the stairwell. Sparks flew as rounds pinged off the rails, puffs of dust and chips of concrete flew from the walls. The President was crouched against the wall, as low as he could get. Denny had taken Stewart's gun from him and was now firing both it and his own gun.<p>

"Nomad!" Beachhead shouted, waving at her. "Switch it up!"

She darted over to take Beach's place beside Hawk. The Ranger dropped back beside Denny, crouching low, reloading as he went.

Every shot had to count. Nomad was running low on ammo, too - and there were still four more floors to go before they reached ground level, where Law was waiting.

It was going to be close.

"_Dynamite? You still there_?"

No, no, _no_. Not _now_. She gritted her teeth and tried to ignore the smug voice. She had to focus - aim, squeeze the trigger, aim again, all in less time than it took to blink. No time to think. She couldn't let him get to her. Not now. If she had to freak out, she could freak out later. Preferably when there was nobody watching.

"_Come on…you haven't gone all shy on me, have you_?"

"Shut the fuck up, you son of a bitch," she breathed.

Hawk shot the last man. Both he and Nomad ejected the empty clips in their guns and slammed new ones in, then looted the bodies sprawled on the landing.

"This's a bloodbath, Hawk," Beachhead muttered, coming up behind them.

It was true. The floor was literally covered in it - it was slippery to walk on. They left bloody footprints behind them as they bolted down the stairs, taking them three at a time.

"Who's this guy who keeps talking to us?" Denny asked suspiciously. "Who's Dynamite?"

"What?" The President glanced around questioningly, puffing. He wasn't wearing an earpiece - he hadn't heard Goldilocks' teasing.

Nomad opened her mouth.

"We'll explain when we get out of here," Hawk promised, cutting her off. "Right now, we don't have time to stop. Law? You there?"

"_I'm here, sir, but I'm under heavy fire! I got - whoa shit! - I got at least ten guys on my ass!_" Law was shouting his voice almost drowned out by gunfire.

Hawk swore. "I hear you, Law, we're on our way. Mutt?"

There was no answer.

"Mutt? Do you copy?" Hawk pressed.

When the headset crackled, Nomad let out a sneaky sigh of relief, expecting to hear the dog handler's gruff voice.

It wasn't Mutt who answered.

"_Yeah, he copies. He just can't answer at the moment,_" Goldilocks said. It sounded like he was smiling.

Nomad repressed the shiver, ignoring the looks both Hawk and Beachhead shot at her.

Third floor. They reached it just as the door was flung open; Beach smashed his fist into the first guy's face, then grabbed the second guy by the collar, grabbed the door and slammed it shut on his head. Nomad heard a sickening crack, then pointed her gun as Beach let the door swing open again. The remaining guy and woman dropped their weapons and raised their hands, then spun around and took off running.

There was no time to chase after them. Beach retrieved the guns.

"_Hey, Dynamite. This guy Mutt a friend of yours? I like meeting your friends_." There was a pause. "_He wants to say hi._"

Beachhead put a hand on Nomad's shoulder as there was a loud _clunk_ - it sounded like Goldilocks had put the headset down somewhere - and then there was a horrible _SNAP_!

That wasn't the worst part. The worst part was Mutt's half-choked off cry. In the background, they could all hear Junkyard barking ferociously.

Nomad's shoulders were heaving, she was breathing so hard. Her heart was thumping against her ribs.

Hawk looked at her. "Take drag, Nomad. Do _not_ say anything," he warned, pointing.

She averted her eyes, looking anywhere but at the general. "Yes, sir."

"Beachhead, up front with me."

Nomad waited for the President to hurry past her, then slammed her palm against the pitted concrete wall in frustration.

That son of a bitch. Was he looking for some payback? Out to get her for sending him to prison? For trying to get him lethally injected?

Or was he just playing with her while he had the opportunity?

Thirty seconds later, they reached the ground floor landing. Hawk listened at the door for a moment, then pressed himself to the wall beside it and gestured to Beachhead.

Nodding once, the big Ranger reared back and slammed his foot into the door, right beside the handle. The door splintered open; Hawk, Beach and Denny burst through. Nomad stood about a metre away, by the stairs, with the President crouched down behind her.

After a few moments, Beach's balaclava-covered head poked around the door. "It's clear. C'mon."

Nomad and the President followed him out into the lobby. Several bodies lay on the floor amidst spent shell casings and blood puddles.

It was messy. Very messy. The polished wooden reception desk and the wall behind it were riddled with bullet holes. The doors that they'd walked through - Nomad checked her watch - only seventy minutes ago were opaque, the safety glass completely shattered. Cops - regular cops - milled around outside.

It looked like maybe they'd been helpful after all.

Christopher M. Lavigne - known to the Joes as Law - stood in front of the reception desk, his eyes darting back and forth. Beside him, his dog - a big, solid German Shepherd aptly named Order - was standing with his ears pricked up. Nomad couldn't help but notice the blood around his jaws, and then she saw the body of the man nearby - the body with the arm ripped to shreds, right down to the bone.

Sometimes, she forgot just what Order and Junkyard could do - they were usually such sweet dogs, you could do almost anything with them. But give them the command, or threaten their handlers…

"Mutt and Junk were guarding the President's SUV," Law was saying. "We'd checked it and it was good to go - driver hadn't seen anything weird." The military policeman paused. "Which is kinda weird in itself…if I was trying to kidnap or kill the President, I'd go for his car first." He glanced up and noticed Nomad and the President watching him. "Not that I've ever thought about it," he added quickly, raising his hands.

Nomad couldn't even will herself to smile. She was too preoccupied with what Goldilocks had said. Would he kill Mutt, just because he was -

Stop it. Focus.

She turned to the President. "Sir, if you'd -" Her throat was tight. She cleared it and tried again. "Mr. President, sir, if you'd just step behind the desk. Just in case." A little better. Not much.

He obliged.

Nomad left Denny with the President and joined the Joes, keeping her gun pointed toward the stairwell door.

"You okay?" Law asked quietly, looking at her.

She nodded. She wasn't - and she was pretty sure they all knew it - but now wasn't the time to go to pieces. She had a job to do, and she was going to damn well do it.

"At least now we know who's behind all this," Hawk pointed out.

"Do we ever," Law answered. "Take a look at this."

Nomad glanced over her shoulder curiously as the MP handed the general a scrap of material. It was blue and silky, with several small, familiar red logos on it. "What's -"

"Let's just say that if he was still alive, the guy Order tore that from wouldn't be sitting down comfortably for a long time," Law said.

"Cobra," Hawk said in disgust, pocketing the evidence.

"Shoulda known," Beach put in. "Even _before_ that piece of shit piped up."

Law smirked, scratching Order behind the ears. The dog's hind leg began to thump the ground. "Good boy."

Nomad stared at the MP in disbelief. "I thought Cobra underwear was a _joke_."

"Nah," Law said, shaking his head. "Just ask Dusty, he's got some."

"What?"

"Yeah, he got 'em when he went undercover and pretended to switch sides."

"_What_?" Dusty, undercover? As a _Cobra_? Nomad found that hard to believe - the guy was just too…nice. And then - despite herself - she had to say it. "I didn't get any when _I _went undercover."

"Maybe -"

"If you're done talking about underwear…" Hawk said pointedly.

"Sorry, sir," Law said, winking at Nomad.

He was trying to take her mind off Goldilocks. She appreciated it - for a second, there, it had almost worked.

"Cobra?" Denny asked.

They all glanced around, remembering that they weren't alone. "Need to know info," Beach said, stalking past him. "An' _you_ don't needa know."

The general nodded. "Not just yet, anyway -"

"What the hell is going on here?"

They all turned to see a cop walking toward them, picking his way gingerly over the bodies.

"I'll handle this," the President said, looking at Hawk.

Hawk nodded. "Sir, I have a…situation…in the parking lot that I need to take care of."

"Go ahead," the President answered. "I'll be fine now."

He turned to the angry cop, who immediately quietened down when he realised who he was now yelling at.

Hawk glanced around at the Joes, eventually fixing his eyes on Nomad. She half-expected him to tell her to stay put; he had every right to order her to stay here with the President and Denny. If she saw Goldilocks, and she froze, and somebody was hurt.

…Or worse…

She steeled herself, squaring her shoulders and standing up straighter.

The general said nothing. Instead, he jerked his head toward the stairs leading down to the underground car park.

Moving quickly, with Order trotting along ahead of them, they filed into the stairwell.

* * *

><p>The underground parking lot was eerily quiet. With the power still cut, and no emergency lighting, it was dark. Parked cars - belonging to the <em>real<em> scientists - hunkered in the darkness as the Joes crept past. More than once, Nomad startled at her own pale reflection in a window or side mirror. She wasn't the only one - once, she even saw Hawk turn sharply, only to shake his head and drop his gun a little.

Ordinarily, Nomad was fine with the dark. She'd seen what pitch black looked like, in the Amazon - this was _not_ pitch black.

But knowing that Goldilocks might be down here, somewhere…that was something else entirely.

They moved silently, spread out along the width of the car park. There was no talk - they communicated with gestures, exaggerated so that the others could make them out in the gloom.

"_Hey, Dynamite._"

She stifled a cry as her headset squawked to life. She looked around, squinting into the darkness. Beach was to her left, Law to her right. Hawk was on the other side of the big Ranger, and Order was roaming around, his nose to the ground.

"_I bet you thought about me. Did you dream about me, Dynamite_?"

Disturbingly, his tone was still light. Nomad could just picture him smiling that disarming smile of his. Son of a bitch.

"_I thought about you, Dynamite. Every day I was in that fucking shithole you put me in, you fucking little bitch_."

Ignore him. He's trying to get to you. Don't let him. You _can't_ let him. Not again.

From somewhere on the level below, they heard a high-pitched…well, it wasn't a scream, it was more like…a yelp.

Oh, god. The bastard had Junkyard, too. The sick son of a bitch had done something to the _dog_.

Somewhere ahead of them, Order gave a low, rumbling snarl.

"Easy, boy," Law whispered, almost inaudibly.

"_But enough about me,_" Goldilocks continued. "_What about _you_, Dynamite? How's that sniper…what's his name? Light, Light…Lowlight, that's it. How's he? Still fucking you?_"

How could he know -

The brainwave scanner. Of course.

"_I don't know what he sees in you. Those scars of yours are _so_ ugly._"

It was getting harder and harder to resist lifting her hand to her earpiece and answering him. Her temper was rising.

It was a good thing. If she was getting angry, she _wasn't_ getting freaked.

"_Maybe he just feels sorry for you. Poor little girl, so traumatised by what happened. You know it was your own fault, right? If you'd just told me, I wouldn't've had to cut you up like that. You made me do it._"

She ground her teeth together as they reached the ramp sloping down to the lowest level of the carpark. He was down there, somewhere, with Mutt and Junkyard. He had to be.

"_Oh…your buddy Andy says hi, by the way._"

Hawk gestured to Beachhead. The two of them sidestepped down the ramp, guns up. When they reached the bottom and found the immediate area clear, Nomad, Law and Order followed.

"We find Mutt and Junkyard," Hawk whispered, "and then we get the hell out. Understood?"

They all nodded. Hawk squinted hard at Nomad.

"Under_stood_, sir," she said, a little more petulantly than was safe.

Hawk either ignored it, or simply decided to save the reprimand for back at the Pit.

They spread out, heading to all four corners of the lower level of the garage. It was darker than it had been on the level above, but there weren't any cars parked down here. It was a double-edged sword: Goldilocks had no cover…but neither did the Joes.

Nomad darted from one square concrete support pillar - painted with a colour and large bay numbers - to the next.

Green 26, 27, 28 and 29. Clear - no Mutt, Junkyard or Goldilocks.

Green 30, 31, 32 and 33. Still no sign of them.

She was near the far wall of the garage - the furthest wall from the stairs and elevator - when she heard it: a low groan coming from ahead and to her left. Nomad's head snapped around. She tried not to focus her eyes on anything in particular, rather letting them sweep the area. It was too dark to see anything by looking directly at it.

There. A rectangular alcove in the wall. Something hung from a fixture in the middle of the alcove, at waist height; a fire extinguisher. Beneath the extinguisher, something lay sprawled on the floor, limbs all over the place.

Weapon at the ready, Nomad warily stepped closer, squinting.

Another groan issued from the figure on the ground. "Nom…?"

"Mutt!"

She hurried toward the incapacitated dog handler and knelt beside him, looking him up and down. His eyes were unfocused; he looked dazed. His left arm was bent at the elbow - at an angle which shouldn't have been possible. As Nomad gently inspected it, she saw the bloody, cracked end of bone sticking out of his skin. Blood soaked the entire left side of his shirt.

"Ugh…where's Junk?"

Nomad hushed him. "We'll find him, but right now I've gotta get you -"

She didn't get any further than that.

A large hand grabbed the back of her shirt, hauled her to her feet and slammed her face first against the cold concrete wall. Another hand wrapped around her right wrist and squeezed, forcing her fingers open. She dropped her gun. Her assailant kicked it away; her heart sank as she heard it skitter well out of reach.

He leaned down to speak almost tenderly in her ear. "Hi there, Dynamite. It's been a -"

Nomad smashed her elbow back into his ribs; Goldilocks let out a sharp 'Oof!' and loosened his grip slightly.

Maybe he'd expected her to freeze up - hell, she almost _had_. But Mutt was beside her, lying at her feet with a broken arm and possibly a concussion, and she had to keep him safe.

It bought her a couple of seconds, at least - long enough to bring one foot up against the wall and kick away, shoving herself back into Goldilocks and driving him back a few steps.

Now with enough room to manoeuvre, she spun to face him for the first time since the court martial.

He hadn't changed at all. Nomad didn't know what she'd expected - maybe a Cobra uniform, or something. He wasn't wearing one; he wore dull grey camouflage fatigues. He could have been standing there the whole time, and she probably wouldn't have seen him.

"Not even a hello for your old commanding officer?" he asked, feigning hurt. "You should salute your superiors, _Corporal_."

Nomad slipped her knife from the sheath on her wrist; she didn't have time to bend and snatch the guns from her ankle holsters. That, and she didn't want to take her eyes off the giant man in front of her.

"Really?" Goldilocks chuckled. "Didn't you learn _anything_ from last time?"

Could she throw it? She'd never mastered throwing knives, much to Storm Shadow's annoyance…should she risk -

He pulled a gun and pointed it at her. "Drop it."

She didn't drop the knife. It was her last option - if she dropped it, she'd have nothing.

She heard another low groan behind her. It sounded almost like -

"My name is _Nomad_, you fucking son of a bitch," she snarled. And then she dived sideways.

A stream of white foam hit Goldilocks. He spluttered, stumbling back and raising his arms in surprise. Nomad grabbed both the guns from her ankle holsters and fired. She heard Goldilocks grunt and grab at his shoulder before he turned and bolted, slipping a little on the foam, heading for what looked like a fire door. It looked like she'd winged him.

Nomad lunged to her feet and went to follow, but came up short as somebody grabbed her elbow. She spun, alarmed, only to come face to face with Hawk. Beachhead sprinted past them and burst through the door as it swung shut after Goldilocks. A black and tan blur followed him - Order, his barking echoing through the parking lot.

Nomad nodded to Hawk, then gestured to Mutt. The general let go of her; she headed straight for the dog handler. He was now sitting against the wall, the fire extinguisher rolling away.

She hadn't known what Mutt had had planned when he disguised a single word - 'down' - in his low groan. She hadn't even heard him grab the extinguisher off its hook.

Nomad grabbed hold of his good arm and pulled him to his feet. "Thanks, Mutt."

He staggered a little and grimaced, hissing in pain. "Bastard kicked my dog," he grunted.

Law appeared by Nomad's side, Junkyard slung over his shoulders. "He's okay," the MP said. "Just a little tender around the ribs."

"Yeah…I know the feeling," Mutt grumbled. He raised his good hand to gently scratch the dog behind the ears. "Hey, boy. You did real good. Yeah, you did. Who's a good boy? Huh? Huh? Ow…"

"Easy, Mutt, your arm's broke," Law said, concerned.

"Oh, really? I hadn't noticed," Mutt said scathingly.

"Alright! Sheesh, Grumpy."

Their earpieces crackled once again. Nomad stopped, bracing herself - but it was only Beachhead. "_Dammit…Ah lost 'im, Hawk. Bastard got away._"

"Forget about him," Hawk said. "We regroup, get Mutt to the hospital, make sure the President's alright, and then we head back to the Pit. We'll figure out where we go from there."

* * *

><p>As he gently turned her head from side to side, Lifeline sighed. "Can't you keep yourself out of trouble? Just for <em>once<em>?"

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like I _mean_ to get beaten up, PIA," she pointed out dryly.

"Sit," the medic ordered, before hurrying off into one of the back rooms.

With a weary groan, Nomad slid herself up onto the edge of the bed. She wasn't badly hurt - the mission was just catching up with her, now that the adrenaline had well and truly worn off. She could feel the beginnings of a massive headache. Her right shoulder was starting to ache.

After Mutt had gone to the hospital and got his broken arm set and plastered up - and Law had got Junkyard checked out at the vet - the Joes (and the dogs) gathered in the Oval Office and filled the President and Denny in on exactly what had happened. Nomad kept her part - from when she'd found Mutt to when Hawk and the others showed up - short. She didn't really want to talk about it, but what choice did she have?

When she was done, Law and Mutt both urged the dogs over to her, and she avoided everyone's gazes by patting them.

The President offered to let the Joes stay in the White House for the night - he was that grateful to them. Hawk had politely refused the offer, and so the President had supplied a chopper and a pilot to fly them immediately back to McGuire AFB.

Lifeline returned and plunked a first aid kit down beside her. He pulled out a swab and a bottle of antiseptic.

"Lifeline, it's just a few little scratches," Nomad protested.

He ignored her, dabbing the swab to the cut on her cheek - the first one she'd got, from the glass of the dividing wall in the lab shattering beside her. It stung more than she was expecting; she jerked back and swore loudly.

"Oh, don't be such a wimp," Lifeline said, not completely hiding his grin.

"How about next time _you_ get all scratched up, you let _me_ deal with you?"

Lifeline glanced at the swab, then got a fresh one and moved on to her shoulder. "How the hell did you get all these cuts?" he asked.

"I swung through a window."

He stared.

"It was Hawk's idea," she said quickly. "Blame him."

Lifeline rolled his eyes. "And the bruise on your face?"

She glanced down, and didn't answer straight away. "Goldilocks."

Lifeline's hands faltered. "What?" he asked, eyes wide behind his glasses. "He was there?"

"Yeah."

It was Lifeline's turn to swear. "Nomad -"

"I'm okay," she said quickly. "Really."

A lie? Maybe. But - despite everything - she was actually quite proud of herself. She hadn't frozen; she'd even managed to land a hit.

The medic studied her, then dropped it. He finished cleaning the shallow cuts, but when Nomad went to hop off the bed, he pushed her back. "Uh uh. I'm not done yet."

"What? How could you not be done, it's just a few little scratches!"

"Nomad…" he warned.

She heaved a theatrical sigh. "Oh, fine. Do your worst, medic."

Lifeline held up a small box of Bandaids. "Just for that…"

Nomad gazed at the box in dismay. "You wouldn't."

He grinned wickedly. "Oh, _wouldn't_ I?"

* * *

><p>Nomad sat in the mess hall, nursing a coffee like it was a beer - <em>wishing<em> it was a beer - and pressing an icepack to the side of her face that had bounced off the wall when Goldilocks slammed her into it. She was trying not to think, but she couldn't help but dwell on what had happened.

He'd scared the shit out of her.

It was like he knew everything. From her nightmares, to Lowlight, to…well, whatever else she'd thought about when she'd been strapped into the brainwave scanner. She didn't know what she'd shown them. She couldn't remember.

She sighed and rested her head on the table, closing her eyes. She didn't look up when she heard the soft rustle of fatigues beside her.

Somebody poked her shoulder. "You okay?"

Well…it wasn't anybody she'd been expecting. She opened her eye to see Beachhead - balaclava-less and back to his usual self - eyeing her. "Uh…yeah, I'm okay," she answered, a little surprised.

He snorted. "The hell y'are. That fucker musta shocked the shit outta you. But just so you know - Ah reckon you did good today, scrawny."

Nomad managed a weary grin. The Ranger had his moments. "Thanks, Beach."

He shrugged. "Ah ain't gettin' soft, or nuthin'. Ah'm just sayin'. Anyway, Ah think Lowlight's out on the range."

It was a tempting idea…but Nomad shook her head. She needed some time to get her head around things. Tonight was going to be a bad night, even if the sniper was around.

Beachhead shifted uncomfortably. Nomad sat up straight, deciding to let him off the hook - though it _would_ be funny to watch him squirm a little longer. "Thanks, Sasquatch, but I think I'm just gonna go watch a movie or something."

So much for never making fun of him again. It was just too easy.

"Call me that again, scrawny, an' I'll swing you out another window. _Without_ an extension lead."

Despite herself, she chuckled. "I'll see you bright and early for PT."

"Since we're havin' such a Hallmark moment an' all, Ah'll warn you - there might a couple extra hidden tripwires in the mud pit which might or might not be attached to flashbangs."

She risked clapping him on his broad shoulder, grabbed her coffee - and the carafe, which was still half-full and had been sitting in front of her - and wandered off toward the rec room. She felt in the mood for a bad horror movie…maybe Freddy.

"An' why the _hell_ are you covered in Mickey Mouse Bandaids?"


	10. Chapter 10

Argh. Why does moving have to take so long? I don't even have that much stuff to move, but I still haven't finished yet! On the bright side, my friend who I'm living with works early hours and goes to bed _really_ early, so the house is pretty much mine in the mornings and at night.

I will miss my cats and the dog, though…but not the family. Heh heh.

Unfortunately, I'm back at work again, though. Sigh…crappy job. At least it's not long til Christmas. I'll get another week off then :D After that, only a few months until a big holiday to Africa, and after that, hopefully, I'll get into the Army and be able to go live on base! Might be a big year next year. Go me! :D

Anyway, onto stuff you might actually care about… :P

Sorry this chapter's a little shorter than usual, and nothing much happens. I haven't had much time to write, and I haven't had many ideas for what happens next. I know what _needs_ to happen, but I just can't seem to _make_ it happen. So, yeah. Pretty dodgy chapter, lot of Nomad angsty stuff and a bit of sappy at the end. Apologies in advance :D

As always, thanks for all the reviews and the PMs, and if I've forgotten to get back to anybody, sorry! And a special shout out to theonewhowrotetatertots for letting me read her stuff, for reading all my little bits and pieces and for the encouragement in general! :D

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><p><em>Nightmare on Elm Street<em> - the original one - was one of her favourite crappy old horror movies. Freddy still cracked her up, no matter how many times she watched it. It was so cheesy it was good.

She'd thought she felt up for a horror movie. She wasn't. Tonight, Nomad didn't even make it ten minutes into the film before snatching up the remote and switching off. She tossed the remote onto the coffee table, wincing a little at the loud clunk it made.

Tonight wasn't the night for Nomad to be watching a movie about dying in your nightmares. Especially not when Freddy's first victim died after getting cut up by Krueger's knives.

Even if she really _had_ been set on watching the movie, Nomad wouldn't have been able to focus on it. She was restless; she couldn't sit still. She'd started off sitting on the sofa. Then she'd stretched out, lying on her side. She'd ended up with her legs flung over the back, her head almost hanging off the edge of the cushions.

Part of it was the caffeine buzz from the jug of coffee she'd just finished off - she hadn't drunk so much coffee in one hit for a little while, not since Lifeline had made her cut down. If he found out, he was going to throw a fit.

Nomad righted herself and perched on the edge of the cushion, resting her elbows on her knees and her head in her hands. She dragged her fingers down her face - or at least, the side of her face that didn't hurt to touch.

The rest of the jitters were caused by _him_.

She could still hear Goldilocks' voice in her head. It was almost like she was still wearing her earpiece. No matter how much she tried to block it out, she could still hear him; taunting her, asking about Lowlight, breaking Mutt's arm. Telling her what had happened was her own fault. When she closed her eyes, she could see him smiling at her.

It wasn't her fault.

It _wasn't_.

She wished she'd had more time to aim before shooting at him. She would've put a hole in his head.

No. She would've shot him in the gut first. Like he'd shot Matches -

Nomad stood up quickly, shaking her head as if to clear it out. That was a scary thought. She shouldn't be thinking like that. It made her as bad as he was.

She needed to do something; she needed to _move_. She was tired, strung out from the last couple of hours, but there'd be no sleep tonight. Even if she did manage to doze off, it wouldn't be worth it…she'd just wake up from a bad dream feeling even worse because she'd had a brief taste of sleep and needed more.

She absently headed back to the mess hall. Beachhead was gone. Nomad was almost disappointed - even talking to the Ranger would've been better than doing nothing.

Crossing to the sink at the back of food prep, she washed the mug and carafe and put them away. There; now Lifeline would never know.

She glanced at her watch. So, that had taken a whole five minutes…only the rest of the night to go.

Well, there was nothing to do in the mess hall.

Nomad headed for the door.

* * *

><p>She walked with her head down, wandering aimlessly around the Pit, taking the stairs rather than the elevators to waste more time. She tried not to think. It wasn't working; that voice just kept forcing its way into her mind.<p>

She glanced up as a gaggle of greenshirts walked by, heading for the elevator. Some of them were the greenies who'd gone on the training mission with Lifeline and some of the other Joes - according to the medic, they'd got back that afternoon. One of them - a young guy who'd earned the unfortunate name of Cactus - threw a snappy salute. Grinning despite herself, Nomad waved him down. A few of the others nodded to her and said hello - Lockjaw and Kismet amongst them.

Nomad didn't know if she was imagining it or not, but Kismet looked like she was standing a little taller than usual, smiling a little easier. That was a good sign - maybe she'd got herself a little more self-confidence out in the field.

The only other person she ran into was Muskrat, almost literally. He had a towel draped over his shoulders; it looked like he'd just come from the pool. He looked a little odd without his broad-brimmed hat.

Nomad liked Muskrat; he was an incredibly sweet guy. He'd been in social services, dealing with kids, before he'd joined the army. He was a lot like Dusty - not much fazed him.

"Ouch," he said, peering closely at her face and eyeing the Mickey bandaids. "What happened?"

"Rough day," she answered simply, shrugging.

Wow. Understatement of the year.

"Looks like it," he said. "Was it an op, or did you get beat on by a ninja?"

She rolled her eyes. "Op. Me and Beach and Hawk had to help guard the President."

Muskrat gave a whistle. "Big job."

Nomad nodded. "Yeah. It was all good until Cobra decided to show up and try to shoot the crap out of us." She forced a grin. "Last time I go anywhere without my assault rifle."

He chuckled, gave her a wave and strolled off down the corridor.

Nomad sighed and kept walking. No doubt he'd hear what happened in greater detail soon enough; the whole Pit would know about Goldilocks talking to her over the radio eventually. Beach or Mutt or Law - or Nomad herself - would let something slip, or tell somebody the whole story, and then the news would spread like wildfire.

When she thought about it, Nomad didn't really mind. It was like when she'd told a few of the guys how she'd got her scars…it was actually kind of easier to talk about them after everyone knew.

Hawk hadn't said anything about Goldilocks at all until he, Nomad and Beachhead had got back to the Pit. The debrief - the real one, not the glossy one he'd given for the benefit of the President and Denny - had been in his office. She had to see Psyche Out tomorrow morning - actually, technically it was later today, now - and he'd make up a profile.

Nomad didn't need a profile. The man wanted her blood, simple as that. She'd tried to get him put down, and now he wanted to do the same to her.

The only problem was, now he had Cobra's help.

Well…there was nothing she could do about that. But she _could_ focus on doing her job and helping the Joes beat Cobra whenever they got the opportunity.

Yeah. She could do that.

A waft of cool air rustled through her hair. Nomad looked up to find herself outside; she hadn't even realised she'd wandered up through the Pit.

But of course she had - hadn't she just been talking to Muskrat outside the training room? And then she'd aimlessly walked around the heavy equipment level for a little while, checking out the tanks and the jeeps and everything else.

And now she was ambling in the general direction of the firing range, listening to the soft pops of the paintball guns. The night vision drill hadn't finished yet; she wondered who was in the trenches tonight. Maybe Sci-Fi was out there somewhere - he usually liked the NV drills. He'd stop to talk to her. He always managed to make her laugh.

She hadn't meant to head out to the range; her feet had just taken her there. It was like she was on autopilot. Or sleepwalking.

…Or maybe locked on to the one person who might be able to help her through the night.

Nomad felt a pang of guilt. Lowlight gave her so much. What did she give him? What _could_ she give him? And here she was, running to him _again_ because she couldn't deal with her own problems.

How did he put up with her?

She turned around, meaning to head back to the garage. She'd find something else to do. Lowlight probably wouldn't want to be bothered right now, anyway -

"I know you're there, Nomad."

She winced guiltily and glanced over her shoulder. Lowlight was standing by the edge of the trench, weight even on his feet, hands on his narrow hips. He had his back to her and was gazing out over the range.

God, his ass looked good in that uniform. "You're busy. I'll see you later -"

He clicked his fingers at her and pointed to the ground beside him. He still hadn't turned to look at her - his attention was mainly on the guys in the trenches. She hesitantly walked over to him, standing so that the bruised side of her face was hidden. If she could get away with it, she wouldn't tell him what had happened. Not just yet, anyway. "Who's out there?"

"Team One is Flint and Stalker, Team Two is Scarlett and Duke."

"The big guns," Nomad said with a mischievous grin. "My money's on Scarlett and Duke." A sudden thought occurred to her, and she had to ask, "Does Scarlett have a paintball crossbow?"

He tried to hold it in, but she heard Lowlight snort quietly. "It's been a while since you had a night run. I'll schedule you for tomorrow."

She nudged him with her shoulder. "Gee, thanks."

He glanced down at her. His eyes were hidden behind his goggles, but he smiled, and his shoulders shook with a brief laugh. "How'd your op go?"

"Bad." Dammit. She hadn't meant to say that. Why did she say that? She should've lied - at least until he had the time to listen.

…Ah, who was she kidding? She couldn't lie to Lowlight. He always saw right through her; it bordered on unfair.

Nomad thought it might be his eyes. She was a sucker for his eyes. And his grin, and his -

He turned, and when he spoke she could hear the concern in the sniper's quiet voice. "How bad?"

Well…she might as well keep going. "Pretty bad."

"The President -"

"Oh, not _that_ bad," Nomad said hurriedly, raising her hands. "You would've heard already if it'd been _that_ bad. More…bad for _me_." She shrugged. "But it's okay, we can talk about it when -"

"What happened?"

"It's…" Okay. So it was a little harder to talk about than she'd expected. "It's nothing, Lowlight, don't worry about it."

He looked at her. Even through the goggles, she could feel his blue eyes drilling into her. She turned her head so he could see the bruises around her eye socket and cheekbone.

The sniper shifted his weight a little, crossing his arms. "Did you get hit?"

"Well…it was more like I hit something," Nomad said, trying to keep her voice light. "I, ah…kinda got slammed into a wall."

Lowlight said nothing, clearly waiting for a further explanation. He shot a quick glance out over the trenches, then looked back, his lips pressed into a thin line. Nomad didn't want to tell him, but what choice did she have? He'd find out eventually…the least she could do would be to let him hear it from her.

"Uh…" She took a deep breath. "It was…Cobra attacked, and…Goldilocks…"

Lowlight's head snapped around.

"He was -" Nomad cleared her throat to mask the way her voice cracked. "He was talking to me over our headsets. Must've tapped our freq. He broke Mutt's arm."

Lowlight scowled. "Talking to you, personally?"

She nodded.

"And he went for you."

Nomad shrugged, trying to dismiss it and failing. "He snuck up on me when I found Mutt. Slammed me into the wall. I got him off me, and - I honestly don't know how Mutt did it, he was so out of it, but he grabbed a fire extinguisher and squirted Goldilocks with it."

Lowlight swore, shaking his head. "The bastard got away?"

"Course he did," she said miserably, nodding. "I winged him, though." Small comfort that was. Just something else for him to want to pay her back for.

"Sounds like he's gunning for you."

She threw her arms up impatiently and glared. "Thanks _so_ much for pointing that out, Coop, I hadn't noticed," she said scathingly. She must've snapped a little louder than she'd realised - for a brief moment, the popping of the paintball guns in the trenches ceased.

Lowlight checked his watch, unclipped his walkie talkie from his belt, keyed it, and said, "Five more minutes, guys." Then he just looked at her. "I didn't mean to sound -"

Nomad raised a hand, sighing. "No, I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I just…it's been…"

Anything she said would've sounded lame even to her, so she settled with another, "I'm sorry."

His stern expression softening, Lowlight reached for her. She pulled back - actually, it was more like she shrunk away. "I'll, uh…I'll let you get back to work," she said pointedly, then she managed a bashful grin. "I don't want Duke to catch me distracting you. Or Stalker or Flint, for that matter. Scarlett I could manage, but those guys? Nuh uh."

"Shezz -"

She shook her head. "I…we'll talk later, okay?"

He raised a hand and sat his goggles atop his head. He studied her for a moment. "You're not okay, are you?"

_No, I'm not_.

Of course, she wasn't going to admit it. "I'm fine, Lowlight."

He clearly didn't buy it. A muscle in the sniper's jaw twitched; he looked like he didn't want to let her leave, but he nodded anyway. "If you need me -"

"_If_ I need you, I know where you'll be."

* * *

><p>Nomad woke from her nightmare with a choked scream, flailing so hard at the sheets twisted around her legs that she almost tumbled headfirst out of bed.<p>

There was a soft knock on the door, and Scarlett's sleepy voice called through it. "You okay in there, Nomad?"

The soft southern drawl brought Nomad back to the present. She _wasn't_ in a small, dark room in a Cobra prison. She could move - she wasn't lying on the floor with her wrists and legs bound and a red Cobra mask stuffed into her mouth to gag her. Goldilocks _wasn't_ standing over her and smiling his charming, misleading smile as somebody else screamed and begged and cried.

She couldn't tell who was screaming. After the day she'd had, it could've been Mutt, or Lowlight, or…well, no, maybe not Beachhead. Nomad had never heard Beachhead do more than grunt slightly louder than usual if he was hurt - he'd probably be more likely to spout curses. She didn't like to think it might've been Hawk - the general _couldn't_ sound like that, could he?

She didn't like to think it could be _any_ of them - it was horrible to imagine _anyone_ sounding like that, let alone any of the Joes.

How naïve was that? None of them were invincible.

You never knew. Before the Amazon, she'd always thought she'd be braver, if it came to torture, and look what had happened. She'd been better second time around, though - not that it was much consolation.

She gave a bitter laugh. Apparently, practice _did_ make perfect.

"Nomad?"

She glanced up at the closed door. "Uh…yeah," she answered quickly. "Yeah, Scarlett, I'm good. Thanks."

There was a brief pause, then a doubtful-sounding, "Okay..."

Nomad waited a few moments until she heard the door to Scarlett and Lady Jaye's room close, then groaned. She rubbed a hand over her face - her skin felt gritty with sweat. A bead of it trickled down the small of her back before soaking into the waistband of her shorts.

Nomad swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a moment. "Shit," she muttered, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "Aaah, fuck me…"

Well…it wasn't like she hadn't been expecting it, was it? She'd known it was going to be a bad night. She should've got some sleeping pills from Lifeline. It'd been a while since she'd taken any; which was pretty good, considering when she'd first arrived at the Pit she'd practically been dependent on them to get a least a couple hours sleep each night.

A Joe with an addiction to sleeping pills…god, it was a wonder she'd been allowed to stay. She was pretty sure Lifeline and Doc would have noticed…

But that was enough of that. She didn't have that problem anymore. Life back on active duty in the Pit had helped her with that. The constant training; the regular, healthy meals (as opposed to microwave dinners just about every night), and even - though she hadn't liked to admit it at first - even the company of the other Joes had helped her to settle.

A little.

With a sigh, Nomad pushed herself to her feet. She stuck her head out the door, then quietly closed it behind her and headed for the bathroom, just a short walk away. She thought about having a quick shower, but there was no point - in a few hours, she'd just get muddied up on Beach's obstacle course, anyway. She settled for splashing her face and rubbing her neck with icy cold water.

She looked at herself in the mirror. The bruises on her face had already started to turn from reddish-brown to purple, and she was a little puffy on that side. On the other cheek, Lifeline's damned Mickey Mouse bandaid still held together the cut from the shattered glass wall.

She wasn't pretty. Hell, she'd never been a stunner in the first place, but lately she'd taken a real beating. She wondered what Lowlight thought, when he saw her like this. The scars on her gut were one thing; having a bashed up face was another. You couldn't hide a bashed up face.

Well, not unless you wanted to go for the Masked Ninja or Beachhead Balaclava look.

That thought sent a stab of guilt through her. Compared to Snake Eyes' scarred face, she really had nothing to complain about. Her bruises would fade. And, really…she knew that Lowlight didn't care. He'd already proved - repeatedly - that he wanted her, scars and all.

She was just feeling sorry for herself. Again.

Wasn't she supposed to be getting over all that kind of crap?

Nomad sighed as she pushed open the bathroom door. She knew what she _wanted_ to do. But if she did it, she'd look…weak. Helpless and pathetic. Wouldn't she?

She paused outside her room, hand reaching for the doorknob.

_Screw it_.

For once - just this once - she pushed aside all thoughts and went with her heart.

* * *

><p>He was in the dimly lit mess hall, a coffee mug by his elbow and yesterday's newspaper spread open on the table. His head rested on his hand. His long legs were stretched out, feet resting on the chair beside him. He'd changed out of his uniform and now wore his red t-shirt - it was his favourite - and a pair of baggy cargo pants. He hadn't noticed she was there yet.<p>

"I didn't think I'd see you again tonight," Lowlight said quietly.

Dammit. Nomad narrowed her eyes at his back. "How'd you know -"

He turned and offered her a small, lopsided smile. "You ever get that funny feeling somebody's watching you?"

Did she ever. "All the time," she said simply, crossing to the table and sitting beside him. "Let's see…the last time was when a certain sniper showed up at my front door unexpected and gave me a heart attack. What'd you mean, you didn't think you'd see me again tonight?"

Lowlight's eyes flicked over her face, and then he gave her a half-hearted shrug. "You had that look."

Nomad frowned. "What look?"

"The one you get when you don't want to ask for help," he answered bluntly.

_Damn_. He'd seen right through her all along. Of course he had - he was about the only person she'd never been able to completely fool.

Still, she tried. "I ask when I need help," she said indignantly. "A couple of days ago I had to ask Gung Ho to open a jar for me. It was embarrassing."

"That's not what I mean, and you know it," Lowlight said firmly, fixing his eyes on her.

"I don't -" she began, but couldn't keep up the pretence. She sighed and nodded. "I know. I guess…I'm still not used to it."

Lowlight shifted in his seat, leaning forward. "Used to what?" he asked earnestly.

The concerned look in his eyes almost brought Nomad to tears. Dammit, she'd never used to be this sappy. What was wrong with her?

"You," she said, her voice catching. "I'm not used to you."

"But we -"

She held up her hand, silencing the confused man. "I don't mean…it's…" She paused, trying to think of the words. "I'm not used to…"

To how you make me feel. To how you care so much. To _why_ you care so much. There were so many options to choose, but she couldn't bring herself to confess to any of them. She couldn't say just how goddamn much she needed him. She'd never liked admitting she needed anything; she was too proud for her own good. It had always been one of her weak points.

It hadn't started out like this with him. The first day she'd met him, on the firing range, he'd just been her instructor - a quiet, almost sullen man who Nomad hadn't been too sure about. Gradually, over the next couple of weeks, she'd got to know the sniper; well enough to call him a friend and tease him a little. At some point - sometime around the Guatemala mission - she'd started to take a little more notice of him, to find herself working a little harder to try and impress him.

Now, though, every time he touched her, she felt little tingles. Her heart seemed to thump just a little bit louder when he said her name. It wasn't just the sex - which was incredible, no question - it was everything else, too: he just seemed to _get_ her, like nobody else had since Matches and the others.

How was she supposed to say all that and not sound like an obsessive freak?

"Not used to…?" Lowlight pressed.

She shook her head and flapped her arms. "I dunno," she said, trying to get out of the mess she'd got herself into. "I'm just tired, that's all. I think I'll just go back to bed."

It looked like Lowlight wanted to say something, but he just leaned back in his seat. "Okay."

Was it just her imagination, or did he look a little disappointed? She gave him an awkward nod and turned, heading for the door, biting her lip. When she glanced over her shoulder, he'd turned back to the newspaper.

What the hell was wrong with her?

"Coop?"

The sniper glanced up quickly.

Nomad took a deep breath. "Um…Covergirl's still on leave."

"And?"

Of course he was going to make her say it. Had he known what she wanted all along? Probably. Nomad took a deep breath. "Can you…I…I need -"

He waited.

She heaved a sigh and hung her head. "I can't sleep; I had another nightmare. I…need you there. I'm sorry, I hate asking, but -"

Lowlight was on his feet already, striding over to her.

Nomad shifted awkwardly, averting her eyes until he put a finger underneath her chin and made her look at him. He kissed her softly - her knees almost buckled beneath her. It wasn't fair that he could do that to her. Nomad wondered if he ever felt like that when she kissed him. She doubted it. "I'm sorry," she said again.

"Don't apologise," he said quietly. "You've got nothing to apologise for. Come on."

* * *

><p>Nomad told him everything as they lay in her bed. Lowlight pressed his body against her back in the narrow single bed, his arms around her. Every now and then he ducked his head forward to kiss her shoulder, or her ear, or the top of her head, but that was all. His hands didn't roam. He was just there, listening to her talk, sometimes giving her a reassuring squeeze as she recounted the things Goldilocks had said to her.<p>

She felt better once she'd got it all out. She still had to go through it all again with Psyche Out later, but having Lowlight just listen and not ask shrinky questions was nice.

"It's not your fault," the sniper told her firmly. "You know that."

"Yeah, I know," she agreed, rolling over to face him. "But still…"

Even in the darkness, Nomad saw Lowlight's eyes flash angrily. "You listen to me. Don't you give any thought to _anything_ he said. He's taken enough from you already; don't give him any more."

"I _know_, but -"

She could feel the tension in him. He was worked up, angry on her behalf. "I swear, if I ever see him, I'll kill him."

"No," she said, a little more harshly than she'd intended. "Stay away from him, Coop. I mean it."

The sniper shook his head. "If I -"

"_No_!" she said again. "He knows who you are; he knows I -"

Nomad stopped short. What had she just been about to say? He knows she…what? "I know what he's like," she said quickly, trying to cover it up. "He'd kill you like he killed my team, just to mess me up even more. And it _would_ mess me up. You know that."

"Fine. I'll snipe him," Lowlight decided. "I'm telling you now, though: if I get the chance, I'm taking it."

Nomad closed her eyes and huddled into his chest. "People seem to say this to me a lot, but it's my turn now. Just don't do anything stupid. Please."

"I won't."

"Promise?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks."

She didn't know how long it took before she fell asleep - properly asleep, not fitful dozing - but eventually, she did.

Just as she was on the verge of sleep, she thought she heard Lowlight say something to her. It was only a whisper, but…well, it sounded almost like he'd said, "I love you."

But he couldn't have said that.

She must've heard wrong.


	11. Chapter 11

Yaaaay! Next chapter...FINALLY! I gotta admit, I've been a bit sidetracked lately - I've got too many stories started, and not enough time to write them all! I'm going to try and get a new chapter of Asylum up next, but I do have more ideas for this one, so hopefully I can get the next chapter of this one done pretty quick, too. It's a mission - there may actually be some PLOT in the next one (Gasp!)

As usual, reviews are awesome, so thanks to everyone who gives 'em! Another shoutout to theonewhowrotetatertots, for all the emails and ideas and for introducing me to the joys of fried peanut butter and jam sandwiches...so sickening, and yet so yummy...and to nursekelly, for the medical advice (which I promptly ignored - sorry!) for an upcoming chapter, and to...oops, I can't remember who it was right now, but somebody mentioned Spongebob bandaids and I HAD to get it in there somewhere.

Anyway...on with the show! :D

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><p>"No, wait! Rocky, stop!"<p>

Nomad ducked, squeezed her eyes shut and covered her ears as Rock 'n' Roll ploughed straight into the mud pit. Nevertheless, she still 'saw' the blinding flash through her eyelids as a red glow, and heard an unbelievably loud bang.

As Beachhead had warned, there _were_ extra tripwires in the mud pit. There were usually one or two wires, which the Ranger changed every day to new positions - or sometimes, if he wanted to try and trick the Joes, he'd leave them in the same place, which was surprisingly effective (Nomad had fallen for it once) - but these extra wires were attached to stun grenades called 'flashbangs' which, when triggered, emitted a bright white flash and an eardrum-splitting bang; hence the name.

Although, when Nomad thought about it, technically they should be called flash_booms_.

Flashbangs were particularly effective in low-visibility situations, or at night time; if you looked at one and you were wearing night vision goggles, your retinas would be burned clean away. The 'bang' part of the flashbangs would temporarily deafen you. You'd be left blind, deaf, and completely at the mercy of the bad guys.

Nomad, thanks to Beachhead's unusually sympathetic 'Hallmark moment' last night, had known to watch for the extra tripwires. Unfortunately, she hadn't been able to warn the others before running the obstacle course - the drill sergeant had kept a sharp eye on her the entire morning. He'd loped along beside her for most of the morning run around the perimeter fence, barking insults at her and the rest of the Joes. He'd caught her leaning toward Tripwire at one point, and made her do one hundred pushups with his unnaturally large combat boot planted firmly in the middle of her back.

To be honest, she really didn't mind - it kept her thoughts off…other things. And she got the feeling Beachhead knew it, too.

Of course, she didn't _tell_ him she didn't mind…she wasn't _that_ stupid.

Nomad opened her eyes - even though she hadn't seen the flash directly, coloured spots floated around in her vision for a few seconds. Rock 'n' Roll was flat on his back in the mud pit, hands over his face, groaning. Nomad grabbed the front of his shirt and tried to haul him to his feet. "Come on, Rocky, get up -"

"WHAT?"

Taken by surprise by Rock 'n' Roll's yell - brought on, no doubt, by a ringing in his ears - Nomad fell backwards onto her ass with a soft splat. "Ah, dammit…"

Dusty, a little further ahead by the rope climb, looked up - he'd heard Nomad's shout and glanced back in time to mirror her movements, crouching and covering his head. Of course, when he saw them he started to chuckle. Nomad flung a handful of mud at him in disgust. He dodged aside, bursting out into gleeful laughter.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?" Rock 'n' Roll shouted, looking around, still dazed.

Dusty, biting his lip, waded into the pit to help first Nomad up, then the blonde surfer dude. "Beach's idea of a joke?" he suggested, sniggering at the bewildered look on Rock 'n' Roll's hairy face.

"I CAN'T HEAR YOU!"

Nomad flapped her hands, trying to flick the sticky black mud off. She ended up wiping it on her BDUs. "Beachhead hooked up some flashbangs," she said.

"WHAT?"

With a sigh, Nomad repeated herself in sign language.

"WHY DIDN'T YOU SAY SO?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I _tried_!"

"An' just _why_ have y'all stopped?"

Dusty and Nomad glanced up guiltily to see Beachhead prowling at the side of the mud pit. It looked like he was smirking underneath his balaclava - his eyes were crinkled slightly at the corners.

"We were helping Rocky, Beach," Nomad said, before putting on her most innocent expression. "Unless you _want_ us training to leave a disorientated soldier behind in the field?"

The brown eyes narrowed to a dangerous glare, and the big man pointed toward the finish of the course. "Move it," he growled.

Dusty clapped Nomad and Rock 'n' Roll on the shoulders, but neither of them needed encouraging. Even Rock 'n' Roll had already started running, sort of - he was a little wobbly on his feet, thanks to the flashbang blast's effect on his eardrums. Beach's body language was enough to get the point across: move, or suffer.

Keeping an eye out for any more hidden surprises, Nomad waded across the mud pit, the thick black muck almost sucking her combat boots off her feet. It had been known to happen; every now and then, when it was time to clean out the bad mud and top up with fresh - well, _fresher_ - stuff, the unfortunate greenies or Joes who'd pissed Beach off enough to earn the job would find an old boot. Not to mention hats, watches…the mud ate everything. Once, she'd heard, somebody had found a fully-loaded, combat-ready assault rifle in there…but that might've just been a Pit legend.

There _was_ a 'Lost and Found' closet in the Pit. Nobody used it. If somebody lost something, the first place to go would be the mess hall; if it wasn't sitting on one of the tables in there, it was customary to loudly ask, 'Has anybody seen…?'.

If nobody knew where the item was, it was presumed lost in the mud pit until the next clean out.

Nomad shimmied up the rope climb after Dusty. One by one they edged along the narrow ledge - and then, with a sudden _hiss_, the solid - well, it _had_ been solid - timber ledge gave way beneath her feet. "Whoa!"

She came up short as both Rock 'n' Roll and Dusty grabbed her arms, heaving her back up. She glanced down to see a foot-wide section of the ledge hanging on a set of hydraulic hinges.

That was new. Beachhead hadn't told her about _that_.

She couldn't help herself. "Beachhead, you oversized smelly damn son of a -"

Nomad froze as somebody cleared his throat loudly, and the big Ranger emerged from underneath the ledge, glaring up at her. "_What_ was that, Nomad?"

"Uh…"

Beside her, Dusty sniggered. "Sprung."

She elbowed him in the ribs. "God damn it."

* * *

><p>"Hey, Nomad. Go a little overboard with the mud mask, did ya?"<p>

"Shut up, Clutch." Nomad wiped in vain at the layer of drying mud coating her face as she trudged through Garage 2.

Beachhead gave a snort as he strode past, easily carrying a pack of gear that probably weighed just as much as Nomad over one broad shoulder. "It's her own fault," he said. His voice was smug.

"All I said was -" she started indignantly.

Beach turned and pointed at her, still walking. "Ah don't care _what_ ya said, scrawny. Point is, ya said it to _me_."

"Not exactly. I didn't know you were there." Although, with her luck, she should've known the big Ranger would've been standing there, just out of sight. Consequently, thanks to her grumbling, she'd found herself face first in the mud pit with Beachhead standing over her, smiling self-satisfactorily beneath his balaclava.

"Same thing," Beach retorted.

Clutch winced, went to clap Nomad on the shoulder, then thought better of it. "Well, at least -"

Without warning, Nomad planted her hand on the grease monkey's face, smearing mud all over him. "Shut up, Clutch."

"Right."

* * *

><p>Freshly showered and mud-free, Nomad strolled into the mess hall, more than ready to grab some breakfast. Her stomach rumbled; she'd been able to smell the food from the other end of the hallway. She was <em>hungry<em>.

"Hey, Mutt," she said, lining up beside the dog handler. "How's the arm?"

He glanced down at the cast irritably and gave a low growl. Nomad grinned when she saw it already had several scribbles all over it. "Is that the President's -"

"Yep."

"Nice. You got a pen in one of those pockets?"

Chuckling, Mutt handed over a Sharpie, and Nomad scrawled her name - her _codename _- on the plaster. "And how's Junk?" She reached down to scratch behind the Rottweiler's ear.

"He's still a bit sore. I swear, if I ever get my hands on that bastard -"

Nomad gave him a look. "Line up, buddy," she said flatly.

"Right." Mutt had the decency to look abashed, at least. "Look, I'm gonna need some help training Junk when he gets better…" he offered.

"Sure. I guess I owe you one for getting your arm broken," Nomad answered. As soon as she said it, she realised it sounded sarcastic, and looked up at him. "I didn't -"

Mutt gave her a stern look. "Don't you go thinkin' it's your fault."

It reassured her a little. "I'll help anyway," she said.

"Well…Junk won't be fit for training for a few days - no, he doesn't need bacon!"

Nomad grinned guiltily as the dog plucked the treat from her fingers. "Sorry, Mutt. You know I can't help it."

He sighed. "Go eat your own breakfast and stop spoiling him. He'll get fat."

After helping Mutt get his breakfast - it was a little hard for him to hold his plate and get his food at the same time, with only one good hand - she helped herself to some extra crispy bacon and perfectly runny eggs, then turned to find a place to sit.

"And then - get this - she just _handed_ Lockjaw his own ass! Swear to God, man, she's part ninja!"

Nomad raised an eyebrow. A group of greenies was sitting at a table in the centre of the room, with a few of the Joes standing around, listening in. It was the lanky Cactus who was talking. Curious, she joined the group, squeezing in between Airtight, the yellow-and-green-jumpsuited hostile environments guy, and the bare-chested Gung Ho. "_Who's_ part ninja?" she asked, eating with her fingers.

Airtight glanced sideways at her, screwing his nose up as she used the bacon to scoop up some egg yolk.

"Hey, you can't talk," she pointed out, taking a large bite and making sure she savoured it quite obviously. "_You_ eat peanut butter and tomato together. At least bacon and eggs _go_. Who's part ninja?" she repeated.

"Apparently, Kismet," he explained.

Nomad raised an eyebrow. "Really?" So, maybe she _hadn't_ been imagining things last night. Maybe the timid little intern had finally found her confidence. "What happened?"

"Lifeline an' a few others were playin' wounded," Gung Ho said, chuckling. "Lockjaw was one of the 'bad guys', snuck 'round to 'kill' them, an' little Kismet beat him up but good." The Marine pointed to the stocky young man sitting at the end of the table. Lockjaw was laughing just as hard as the rest of them as he lifted his shirt to reveal several large bruises on his ribs.

Nomad laughed. "Who'd have thought it?" she asked in wonder. She looked around for the mousy intern, but Kismet was nowhere in sight. She was most likely in the infirmary; she spent most of her time in there with Doc and Lifeline.

"Not me," Gung Ho admitted. "I thought she was a washout for sure."

Airtight nodded. "Well…they _do_ say it's the quiet ones you have to look out for."

Nomad left the gossiping greenies and Joes to it. She had to get down to Psyche Out's office to help him make his profile on Goldilocks.

She really wasn't looking forward to it. She'd been having a good morning so far; waking up still in Lowlight's arms did that to her. If she hadn't been worried about what Beachhead would do if she missed PT, she would've stayed in bed all morning, curled against the sniper's side, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek as she rested her head on his chest, closing her eyes and sighing contentedly as he brushed her messy hair away from her eyes and kissed her forehead…

And PT hadn't been too bad either, even though she'd got slathered in mud. It'd driven all thoughts of Goldilocks away, at least, and Rock 'n' Roll was still speaking unnecessarily loudly, which was just plain funny. Especially when he'd said something about Storm Shadow being a little bit creepy, and the ninja - and everyone else in the immediate area - had heard because the hairy blonde man wasn't muttering half as quietly as he'd _thought_ he was.

Nomad had last seen the white-clad ninja tailing Rock 'n' Roll with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

Still, there was no avoiding the shrink. Nomad had learnt that lesson the hard way - if she missed an appointment, Psyche Out would just find her and make her feel guilty about it.

Nomad jabbed the button and waited for the personnel elevator to arrive. Something niggled in the back of her mind as she shifted from foot to foot; she frowned, trying to remember what it might be. It was something to do with Lowlight, she was sure. Something about last night. She'd been in some kind of shock last night, brought on by the confrontation with Goldilocks; everything was kind of dream-like…hazy. She only vaguely remembered wandering around the Pit.

But there was _something_.

The lift doors slid open with a cheerful ping. Shrugging to herself, Nomad dismissed the thought and stepped in. It'd come to her later, probably when she was least expecting it.

"Nomad!"

"Huh?" She stopped the doors sliding closed by sticking her head out. "Oh, hey. Morning, Mains."

Mainframe jogged up to her, slowing to a stop and pressing his hand against the doors to keep them open.

Nomad smiled. She liked Mainframe - he was cool. While now he mostly dealt with computer and technological issues, he'd spent the start of his military career in the field. He liked to keep up with things - that's why he'd become a techie in the first place. A lot of weaponry and vehicles were computer-based, or had some kind of program they depended on - and Mainframe knew just about all there was to know. He'd graduated top of his class, showing up a lot of younger troops. That's why he was a Joe; he had the field experience, as well as the technological.

Nomad's finger hovered over the button for the next floor down. "You want the computer level?"

The vet shook his head. "Nah," he answered, shoving a hand into his pocket and pulling out a thin, transparent CD case with a disc in it. "Just wanted to give you this."

Still holding the doors open - they kept rattling, trying to close on her - Nomad read the label on the disc, written in Mainframe's neat print. To her dismay, her eyes started to tear up a little. "You saved some stuff from my laptop?"

Mainframe shrugged self-effacingly. "I'm doing what I can. It was smashed up pretty good. I haven't had time to get through it all, but that's what I've got so far. There's some photos, some music…I'm trying mostly to recover the photos. Figured you'd want them back more than you would the music."

Nomad tucked the CD into her own pocket, looking at her feet so the older Joe wouldn't see her moist eyes. "Thanks, Mains. You don't know what -" She cleared her throat before her voice cracked. "It means a lot."

The techie nodded, beaming at her as he reached out and gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I'm still working on it. I should be able to save some more, yet."

"Thanks," Nomad repeated. "Hey, when you've got some free time, would you come with me to buy a new laptop?" She blushed a little and admitted, "I don't know much about computers."

Nomad pulled a face. Mainframe knew full well that Dial Tone got on Nomad's nerves. Yeah, the guy was nice enough…but for some reason, he just annoyed her. She couldn't put up with him for very long at all. "Pretty sure," she answered dryly.

He chuckled, then nodded. "Yeah, I'll go with you. But it mightn't be for a little while: things're getting pretty heated right now. Don't tell anyone, but I think we might've found a lead on the Cobra missiles."

Nomad perked up. The day was turning out pretty good after all, despite the fact she had to see the shrink. "Really?"

Mainframe nodded, but he held a finger to his lips. "We're just checking it out for now, but hopefully we'll have something solid to go on soon."

"Best news I've had for a little while. Do you think -"

The older Joe laughed and raised a hand. "It's too soon to tell anything else," he said. "We need to know for sure before we make a move. We've talked about that before."

Nomad sighed. "Yeah, yeah." She checked her watch. "Dammit…I've gotta go, I'm late for the shrink."

"Oh. Have fun with that."

With a grin, Nomad stepped backwards, flipping Mainframe off. The vet, grinning back, removed his hand from the elevator door. They hissed shut.

Nomad took the CD from her pocket and looked at it again.

Well…at least she had _something_ to look forward to today.

* * *

><p>"What else can I say? The guy's a psycho," Nomad said flatly, trying to read Psyche Out's small writing upside down from across the desk.<p>

For the last half hour, she'd been telling - and retelling - the psychologist e_xactly_ what Goldilocks had said to her. It wasn't hard - she remembered it word for word. Psyche Out had recorded it all in his notebook.

He now sat back in his seat, running a hand through his hair and giving her an unreadable look. "What's your definition of 'psycho', Nomad?"

"Crazy? Fucking insane? What the hell else _would _it mean?"

"I hate to tell you, but from a medical standpoint, I don't think he's _either_ of those."

"What?" Nomad stared at the shrink in disbelief. "How can you - after what I've just -"

Psyche Out held up a hand, tapping his notes with the end of his pen. "He's _not _crazy, Nomad, no matter what you might think. He knows what he's doing."

Nomad sat back in her seat - not the squishy armchair, this time, but the less-shrinky office chair directly across from the blonde man - and groaned. "Why does that make me feel worse?"

"Because -"

"That was rhetorical, Psyche."

The psychologist gave her a small, bashful grin. "Right. Sorry. You know I can't help myself sometimes."

She rolled her eyes theatrically. Then, with her gaze fixed firmly on her hands, she asked hesitantly, "So…why'd he…you know, why's he gunning for me? I mean, I can guess, but…"

Psyche Out sighed, then leaned forward and spun his notepad around for her to see. "Do you notice anything about what he said?"

"You mean apart from the fact that -" Nomad stopped herself when she saw the serious expression on his face, and shook her head. "No. Should I?"

He tapped the page again. Reluctantly, she lowered her eyes, reading through the scrawled sentences.

_Hi, Dynamite. Remember me?_

_I shot your buddies. Blew their brains out._

_From what I hear, you remember me pretty well._

_Did you dream about me, Nomad?_

_You know it was your own fault, right? If you'd just told me, I wouldn't've had to cut you up like that. You made me do it._

Her fists were clenching - her nails were digging painfully into her palms.

"Hey. It's okay," Psyche Out said gently, reaching over to put a hand on her shoulder.

Nomad stubbornly shrugged him off. "What's your point? What am I supposed to be seeing?"

The shrink sat back. "It's all about _him_. _I _shot your buddies, did you dream about _me_."

She winced, not liking those words coming from the shrink. He was a good friend; she didn't want to hear…_that_…coming from him. "So _you_ think he just wants to get me back, too."

Psyche Out tilted his head to one side.

"You know…for trying to get him lethally injected."

"Ah." Psyche nodded. "I think that's probably most of it. But…I think the rest of it might be because he doesn't know _how_ you managed it. How you survived, how you - forgive the expression - had the guts to even _try_ and take him down. You, a _corporal_, taking down a general. It wouldn't be the first time a superior officer had targeted a subordinate. I'd say you worry him a little."

Nomad glanced up. "_What_?" she asked incredulously. "Me, worry _him_? You think?"

The blonde man looked at her gravely. "I think," he agreed. "I don't think he'd be _too _worried - he seems arrogant enough to think that none of us can touch him, otherwise he would've taken off a lot earlier than he did yesterday. But he's going to want to tie up loose ends, Nomad. You _know_ that, don't you."

It wasn't a question - and Psyche Out, as always, was right. "Yeah…I kinda figured that," she said, failing to keep the sarcasm from her voice.

Psyche Out shot her a stern look.

"Sorry," she said. "I just…I'm still kinda…"

He nodded, waving a hand. "Understandable. As always -"

"I know where you are if I want to talk," Nomad finished for him with a grin. "Yeah. Have you heard everything you need?"

Psyche Out gestured to the door. "I think so," he said. "Check in with Lifeline when you go past the infirmary. I think he wants to stick more Mickey Mouse bandaids on you."

Nomad rolled her eyes. "Yes, mother."

The shrink glanced up quickly.

"_No_, we are _not_ getting into my relationship with my mom."

* * *

><p>Nomad emerged from the infirmary, scowling to herself as she raised a hand to her face to pick off the new Mickey bandaid.<p>

"And don't pull them off!" Lifeline shouted down the corridor after her, poking his head out the door and glaring.

"Dammit…" Nevertheless, she pressed the sticky plaster back to her skin and lowered her hand - after sticking her finger up at the medic.

It was still another fifteen minutes before the lunch service would start - Nomad was eating early today, so she could fit in a hand-to-hand session and some extra training with Scarlett before an early dinner. After that, she had the night session on the range that Lowlight had signed her up for. She was actually looking forward to it, despite her grumbling at him over it last night. She wasn't too bad at the night-time sessions; her ten months in the Amazon had seen to that. It meant she could break out the warpaint, get out her paintball-equipped assault rifle, and sneak around trying to shoot people. No suits, no having to worry about anybody other than herself – nothing _really_ serious except for maybe a few bruises from the paint pellets.

Unfortunately, though she was good, some of the other Joes were better. Maybe she could convince whoever else would be out there not to shoot her…

"Psst. Hey."

"Huh?" Nomad looked up to see Dusty grinning brightly and beckoning her over to the rec room door. "What?"

He held a finger to his lips and moved aside so she could look through the tiny crack in the door.

Inside, Nomad could only just see Footloose, looking quite uncomfortable as he tried to balance on one foot while trying to stretch the other out behind him, his right arm twisted around so he could attempt to grasp his toes. His other arm flailed wildly.

"Footloose doing _yoga_?" Nomad mouthed to the desert trooper who was leaning over her, also peering into the rec room.

Dusty pushed the door open a little wider, and Nomad suddenly understood. A little further inside the room, Kismet was doing exactly the same yoga pose as Footloose…except she was making it look easy.

"Aww, that's cute," Nomad whispered. "Footloose really likes her, doesn't he?"

Dusty nodded. "Ya know, I think _she_ might like _him_, too. Don't tell him I said that."

Nomad stood up straight and grabbed his arm. "Come on, let's go."

"But this is perfect blackmail material!" Dusty protested quietly, allowing her to drag him away from the door.

"Somehow, I get the feeling that Footloose wouldn't give a _damn_ if the whole Pit knew he did yoga," she pointed out.

"Point made."

* * *

><p>With Dusty still tagging along beside her, Nomad made her way to the mess hall. Jeckle, as usual, was behind the food prep counter.<p>

"Hey, Lifeline's using the Bandaids I bought him!" the tiny redhead exclaimed with a grin.

Nomad stared, then pointed to the Mickey plaster on her face. "You mean this is all _your_ fault?" she asked, deadpan.

Jeckle didn't even hesitate. "Yep. I don't even know how it happened - I mean, seriously, how does a _medic_ run out of _bandaids_? Anyway, he sent me to go pick up a box."

"And you _had _to choose Mickey Mouse?"

"Hey, I happen to _like_ Disney," Jeckle said unashamedly. "_The Little Mermaid_ was always my favourite when I was a kid, because Ariel has red hair like me."

Shipwreck chose that moment to join them. "Hey, I liked that one, too," he said with a grin, leaning on the counter. "Something about those strategically placed shells…"

"'_Wreck_! You're tainting the innocence of my childhood," Jeckle complained good-naturedly.

The sailor chuckled. "Oh, sweetheart, _your_ innocence was tainted -"

"That's enough of _that_," Jeckle interrupted quickly. She turned back to Nomad and Dusty. "_Anyway_, now I like _Sleeping Beauty_. And _Beauty and the Beast_ is cool, too. Oh, and _The Lion King_!"

"_I_ like _The Lion King_," Dusty interjected.

Nomad raised an eyebrow and glanced up at the man.

"What?"

She grinned, then turned back to Jeckle. "Jeck…I think we actually started talking about the bandaids?"

The other Joe laughed. "Oh, yeah! Well, it was either Mickey or Spongebob." She winked. "Think yourself lucky. So…did you wanna grab something for lunch?"

Nomad chuckled and gestured to the refrigerated case. "I'll just grab a couple of sandwiches. I have hand-to-hand later; if I eat too much, knowing my luck, I'll get whacked in the guts and throw up."

"Charming," Dusty said lightly.

"Could be worse," Nomad retorted. She took the chicken, lettuce and mayonnaise sandwiches - Jeckle knew her preference - and headed for a table. Dusty followed as she took a seat by Deep Six, cheerfully nudging the deep sea diver in the ribs just to be annoying. She hadn't seen the surly man for a little while - he'd been stationed on the Flagg since just after she'd been allowed out of the infirmary. "Hey, Deep Six! How you going?"

He glanced sideways at her, clenched his jaw, and turned back to his plate.

"Good thanks, Nomad," she answered for him, watching him carefully. "Nice to see you again, glad to see you up and about, last time I saw you - okay, _okay_!"

Nomad was just trying to decided whether she'd almost seen Deep Six's mouth twitch when Footloose slid onto the seat opposite her, beside Dusty.

Dusty turned to face his buddy, completely failing to keep the smirk off his face. "Hey there, nature boy. You at one with your inner self, now?"

"Huh?"

"Or should I say, are you an' Kismet movin' in perfect harmony yet?"

Nomad giggled at Footloose's confused expression. "We saw you doing yoga with her," she explained.

Dusty leaned his elbow on the table and held up one finger. "_Tryin_' to do yoga, ya mean," he corrected.

"Hey, man, yoga promotes unity of the individual with a supreme being and is a highly disciplined form of exercise," Footloose said.

"So you _weren't_ doing it just to impress Kismet?" Dusty pressed, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah, I totally was," Footloose admitted. "Dude, she likes me."

Deep Six chose that moment to grab his plate and leave the table with a huff. Nomad didn't exactly blame him.

"_I_ reckon you've been smokin' the leaves on your helmet," Dusty retorted good-naturedly.

"I'm serious! Nomad, help me out!"

With a laugh, she shook her head. "I'm hardly the one to ask about relationships," she admitted, glancing at her watch. "I'd better get going, guys. Either of you on the range tonight?"

Dusty shook his head. "Not me, but I think I heard Spirit say he was."

"Great. So I'm gonna have to worry about him tracking my every move."

"Who would you rather, though: Spirit, or a ninja?"

Well, there was only one answer to that. "Spirit. Definitely Spirit."

* * *

><p>Short Fuse swung at Nomad, his gloved fist barely missing her cheek as she ducked backwards, then went in underneath for a sneaky jab to the kidneys. Before she could back away, he drove his elbow down on her shoulder; she went down on one knee, but quickly pushed off and rammed him in the gut. Instead of falling, Short Fuse wrapped his arms around her waist from over the top and flung himself backwards.<p>

"Whoa!" Nomad landed hard on her back - and, she realised a little smugly, on Short Fuse's head. He shoved her off, and they both scrambled to their feet. He looked a little dazed, and his glasses were crooked.

For her part, Nomad was a little out of breath. Short Fuse's little wrestling move - or whatever it was - had knocked the wind out of her.

Still…she wasn't about to let Short Fuse get the better of her. God, she couldn't stand that guy; ever since she'd first met him, he'd just gotten on her nerves. He was abrasive and quick-tempered, and they'd clashed immediately - Nomad was quick-tempered as well.

Storm Shadow knew this, and yet he often paired them together whenever he was taking hand-to-hand. After one particular session, which had seen Short Fuse and Nomad pulled apart by several of the other Joes, Nomad had confronted the ninja about it, demanding - actually _demanding_ - to know why he kept pairing her with him. His answer had been that she needed to learn to control her anger, rather than use it as fuel when she fought. Until she learned how to do that, he'd keep pairing them together.

Stormy had kicked her ass the next time he took hand-to-hand, and she was still getting paired with Short Fuse.

Nomad didn't think she'd _ever_ learn to control her temper. It had proven too useful to her - getting angry had kept her alive on more than one occasion.

Short Fuse adjusted his glasses and lashed out with his foot before Nomad had caught her breath properly. She took it in the side and went down hard with a grunt, and Short Fuse pinned her, winning the bout.

"Get off me," she wheezed, shoving him away and rolling to her feet. She was a little thankful she'd only had the two sandwiches for lunch - but she was more annoyed that Short Fuse had beaten her.

Dammit…all this training and the extra one-on-one sessions…and she didn't seem to be getting any better. She swore, a little more loudly than she'd intended - and then, without even knowing why she did it, she shoved past the Joes and stalked out of the dojo.

* * *

><p>"You wanna talk about it?"<p>

Nomad steadied the punching bag as it swung toward her and turned, wiping the sweat from her face with her forearm. Scarlett stood behind her, a safe distance away, leaning on one of the treadmills with one hand on her hip. "Talk about what?"

Scarlett rolled her eyes. "Oh, I dunno…maybe why you walked out of hand-to-hand before?

Nomad scowled and went to strip off her boxing gloves.

"No, leave them on," Scarlett ordered. "We're going to make up for the training you missed right. And you can tell me why you walked out." The redhead strolled over to the practice mat and tapped her foot. "Come on. Now."

There was no questioning that tone. Nomad joined her.

"So," Scarlett prompted. "What's the problem? You don't just walk out of hand-to-hand. Especially not when Tommy's instructing."

Nomad gritted her teeth. "I just - wasn't up for any more. Short Fuse kicked me in the side and -"

"That's not it, though, is it?" Scarlett pressed. She wandered to the wall and picked up a kick bag. "Start with a few roundhouses," she said, bracing the bag against her thigh.

Nomad bounced a little, then swung her leg around as hard as she could. Her bare foot slapped loudly against the bag. "I guess…not," she admitted.

"So what is it?"

She studied Scarlett's expression between kicks, but said nothing.

Scarlett didn't press. She switched sides so Nomad could work the other leg, and after another few minutes they switched to boxing.

Nomad felt like she was about to burst. Her kicks and punches got harder and harder as the session went on - soon, Scarlett was sweating just as much as Nomad was. "Okay…" Nomad said eventually. "I need a drink."

Scarlett dropped the pads eagerly, and both women grabbed their drinkbottles. Nomad perched herself on the end of the weight bench, breathing heavily.

"So. What's up?" Scarlett asked again, sitting beside her and nudging her.

Nomad was too puffed to think of an excuse. "The mission last night? To guard the President?"

"Yeah…?"

"Goldilocks was there."

"_What_? The son of a bitch who -"

"Yeah. He's the one who broke Mutt's arm," Nomad said, looking at her hands. "Just because he's a friend of mine. He was…talking to me. Over the radio."

Scarlett swore.

"Well, if that's the case, walking out on hand-to-hand probably isn't the best idea."

A towel landed over Nomad's head as Storm Shadow spoke. Nomad groaned and shot Scarlett a pleading look.

"No," Scarlett said firmly. "He's got a point."

Nomad turned around to look at Storm Shadow - and Snake Eyes, who was playfully fanning Scarlett with her own towel.

"Get up," Storm said, pointing to the mat.

"But -"

He glared. She didn't even see his hand move, but apparently it did, because she felt a sharp blow to the back of her head. "Hey!"

"I said get up."

"Storm -"

He hit her again. She felt her face start to heat up. "Okay. Fine. Let's go."

As soon as she saw his grin, she knew she'd regret it.

* * *

><p>"Ooow…"<p>

Lowlight turned to her, his goggles shining in the light from the garage in the distance. "You didn't move fast enough," he admonished, spinning her around to inspect the splotch of paint on her back.

"_You_ try moving fast after you've been mashed into the floor by the ninjas and Scarlett," Nomad retorted, a little more sharply than she'd intended.

The sniper frowned. "Nomad -"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she said, holding up a hand smudged with warpaint. "Cobra - or bad guy of the day, whoever - isn't going to care if I'm tired. I _know_."

Spirit, Bazooka, Breaker and Grand Slam joined them, each of them splattered with paint.

"Well…it's lucky Cobra aren't as good as we are," Lowlight said quietly. He gave her a push toward the garage. "You've had a rough couple of days. I'll put your rifle away for you."

Gratefully, she unslung her paintball gun and handed it to him, then went to walk away. She turned back, a sudden thought occurring. "Hey…Mainframe gave me a disc of stuff he got off my laptop. I…you wanna go through it all with me?"

Even if he hadn't been wearing the goggles, Nomad didn't think she'd be able to read his expression. "Sure. I'll be in soon."

* * *

><p>Nomad sat at one of the Pit's personnel computers - the one farthest from the door. She was staring at the CD in her hands - the CD Mainframe had given her that morning. She already tried to put it in the computer twice, but…something had stopped her. She didn't know what it was, exactly; whatever was on the disc, she'd already seen it before. It <em>was<em> from her laptop, after all.

But…how weird was it that she'd got the photos right after she'd seen _him_ again? What if when she opened the files, everything just…came back, all at once? She'd been trying to move on - truthfully, it'd been _easier_ without her laptop, without the photos right there to remind her. What if…

What if. Psyche Out had once told her she couldn't afford to get hung up on 'what if'. Of course, the shrink was right.

"You've been staring at that CD for ten minutes. You know you've got to put it _in_ the drive, don't you?"

Nomad jumped, spinning her swivel chair around. Lowlight was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. She hadn't realised he was there - her spidey-sense had failed her again. "Dammit, Lowlight! How long've you been standing there?"

"Ten minutes," he answered, as if it should've been obvious. He pushed off the wall and crossed to her, dragging another swivel chair close to hers. "What are you waiting for?"

"I…don't know," she admitted.

"Well, Mainframe hasn't done all that work recovering your stuff for nothing," Lowlight said.

"I know, but…maybe I should've just left it. It's so much easier without reminders…"

Lowlight reached out, spun her chair around and held it so she couldn't turn away. "You'll remember whether you have photos or not," he pointed out bluntly.

That was true. Nomad opened the case, popped the disc out and placed it in the open disc drive. She hesitated with her fingers on the tray.

There was a soft rustle and a sudden warmth behind her as Lowlight leaned close, one hand on her shoulder. The other lightly pressed over her own fingertips; the disc tray slid in with a soft hum. In a few moments, a popup menu appeared, asking Nomad what she wanted to do. Again, Lowlight covered her hand with his and clicked on the 'Open folder to view files' option.

A new window popped up, with several thumbnail images in it. Nomad clicked on the first one - a photo of her and her best friend Matches, just after their passing-out parade.

"Look at you," Lowlight murmured. "You look so…young."

"I was nineteen," she reminded him. "Matches was twenty one." She gave a quiet laugh, and shook her head when the sniper looked at her questioningly. "I was just thinking…back then, I thought basic was the toughest thing I'd ever done. Guess I should've knocked on wood, huh?"

Lowlight took her hand and automatically started running his fingers up and down the scar on her arm. "Tell me about your team," he prompted softly.

Nomad hesitated, then clicked to the next photo - conveniently, a picture of her, Matches, Skipper, Spider and Hotshot. Her team. Her unit. The men who'd died for her.

She took a deep breath. "Spider was our medic. He was so funny - there was one time when…"

* * *

><p>Nomad told Lowlight everything she could think of; from Spider earning his nickname because of an unfortunate incident on an indoor rockclimbing wall which had seen him tangled in his ropes, trussed up and dangling from his ropes like a fly in a cobweb, to sniper Hotshot's constant flirting with just about every girl he came across - except for Nomad, because she was 'practically his sister'. She told him how Skipper had been about to get married - the date was set for two months after the mission to get Nomad. She'd wanted to be the one to tell his fiancée, but she'd been in her coma for too long. The woman had refused to see her later. Nomad hadn't blamed her.<p>

Those four guys; they'd been her family for most of her time in the regular army.

Nomad smiled at the last photo on the disc. It was one of Nomad and the guys in full camouflage, lying amidst the trees of a scrubby forest - they were almost invisible, except for their teeth, bared in cheesy grins. "And that's it," she said with a self-conscious shrug. She'd been talking for the last hour and a half - Lowlight had barely said a word.

Not that that was unusual for him.

To Nomad's surprise, it hadn't been half as painful looking at those photos as she'd thought it would be. Maybe she _was_ getting somewhere, after all. Sure, she'd felt pangs of sorrow - she'd had to fight back tears a few times. But these photos were of the good times. She'd almost forgotten about the good times - she'd been so focused on the bad.

Lowlight squeezed her hand, then reached over and removed the CD. "You should send a copy of this home for your parents to keep," he advised, passing it to her.

She nodded. "I will."

"You should try and get some sleep," he said, standing. "You didn't get much last night. You look like death warmed up."

She playfully slapped his hand. "Wow. That's flattering," she said with a grin. "Where's my scythe?"

He sniggered, grabbed her wrists and pulled her off her chair, drawing her close. She looked up at him, their noses almost touching, her heart beating fast as his arms wrapped around her and held her tight.

Something suddenly clicked. "Hey, Coop…there's something I meant to ask about last night."

"Yeah?"

"Did you say something? Just before I fell asleep? I thought I heard something, but I might've been imagining it."

Lowlight looked at her thoughtfully for a moment. "I don't know," he said eventually. "I was half-asleep, too. I don't remember."

"Oh." Nomad shrugged. "Oh well. Maybe I _was_ imagining it. Don't worry."

The sniper nodded. "'Night, Shezz."

"You _know_ I still prefer Nomad, right?" she asked, walking backwards to the door.

He gave a small smile - but there was something a little strange about it which Nomad couldn't quite place. Had she offended him, saying she preferred her codename? It had never mattered before -

"Yeah, I know," Lowlight said, waving a hand at her. "Go. Get some sleep."

"Aren't you going to bed, too?"

"Nah…I'm gonna stay up a bit longer. Maybe watch a movie."

Nomad stopped. "I'll stay -"

"No." He shook his head. "No, it's okay."

Nomad hesitated. "Well…alright. See you tomorrow, Coop."

"'Night, Nomad."


	12. Chapter 12

Merry Christmas! Hope Santa was good to you all!

Okay, yeah, I know it's a bit late. I did mean to have this chapter up BEFORE Christmas...but I got sidetracked, heh heh. It's happening a lot lately. To those who I promised I'd have the chapter up last week: I'm sorry! And yes, I know this one's a little boring...(Don't hurt me!)

Shoutouts to the usual people - I know, I'm being lazy - thanks for everyone who reads, and reviews, and emails, and PMs, and lets me steal ideas :P And thanks for the Christmas messages! Sorry I didn't reply - still don't have internet hooked up at home :( I'm getting wireless on my laptop soon, hopefully!

Oh...and I know I promised a mission this chapter...NEXT chapter. I promise, again! :D No, seriously, it'll be next chapter. Hopefully it won't take so long to update again :D

So, Happy New Year to everyone! And enjoy!

* * *

><p>"Nomad. Wake up."<p>

The voice came from the other side of the room. Not close enough to bother with. It was only Covergirl, anyway. Maybe if it'd been someone like Duke or, god forbid, Beachhead - someone who could inflict severe punishment - maybe _then_ Nomad would've sat up.

But she was so tired. The last couple of nights were catching up to her, not to mention the training the day before. It had been brutal; Storm Shadow had taken major offence to her walking out of his hand-to-hand session, and neither Scarlett nor Snake Eyes had been particularly sympathetic. But at least Scarlett had taken Nomad's side when the guys, having assuaged their daily need to bash Nomad into the mats, playfully ganged up on them at the end. Snake Eyes even let Nomad floor him with a crash-tackle.

"I said get up!"

Something soft - a pillow - hit the wall above her and landed on her head. Without even opening her eyes, Nomad grabbed it, rolled over and threw it away in one motion. By the sound of it, it hit Covergirl's beside table. "Leave me alone," she groaned. "I don't have early PT today. Let me get some sleep while I can, why don't you?"

"Nomad, don't make me _make_ you get up."

She wormed a hand out of the twisted blankets and raised her finger in the general direction of Covergirl's voice.

"Alright. I warned you."

Even though she was still half asleep, Nomad tensed, waiting for…something. Another pillow to the head…maybe even whatever was left of the glass of water Covergirl kept by her bed at night.

Without warning, the bed itself tipped up. Nomad slid out the side, the blankets landing in a pile on top of her. "Hey!"

The tank jockey looked down at her, hands on her hips and a grin on her stunning face. "I _did_ warn you."

Nomad glared. "You're lucky I'd feel bad messing up that pretty face of yours."

"I would _love_ to see you try," Covergirl retorted lightly, sticking her hand out to help Nomad up. "And _then_ I'd like to see you try and explain yourself to Wayne."

"That's not fair. You can't sic Beach on me."

"Why not?"

"Because he really _would_ hit me," Nomad answered, grinning. She pointed to the blankets. "And you can just help me make my bed again."

Rolling her eyes, Covergirl grabbed one end of the sheets. It was only a single bed; it wouldn't have taken Nomad long to make it by herself, but she figured Covergirl owed her one for waking her up. "What time'd you get back, anyway?"

"Late. Or more like, _really_ early. You were actually already asleep when I got in. Shocked the hell out of me." Covergirl stuck her tongue out at Nomad.

"Had a rough couple days," Nomad said shortly.

"I heard," the stunning woman replied quietly, giving her a pointed look. "How're you holding up?"

She shrugged. "I'm fine," she said. "Don't worry."

"Are you sure?"

"_Yes_, mother," Nomad grumbled…but she still decided to change the subject. "Anyway, you'd better have a good reason for pitching me out of bed." She checked her watch before tucking her side of the sheet in; it was just past eight o'clock. She'd slept in a good two hours - and she'd gone to bed early the night before, too, at one o'clock.

She hadn't even had any dreams. She _must_ have been wrecked…

Covergirl gave her a look as she straightened the pillow. "Do you really think I'd wake you up - _you_ - for a _bad_ reason? Gimme some credit, Nomad."

"So…?" Nomad waited impatiently.

The other woman grinned. "We've got a briefing in an hour. Sounds like Mainframe, Breaker and Dial Tone finally got something useful on Cobra."

So Mainframe's lead had been good, after all. "You think Hawk'll let me go on this one? After -"

Covergirl shrugged. "Who knows _what_ Hawk'll do? Come on, I'll have breakfast with you. Jeckle was making cupcakes before - they might be done by now."

Nomad sniggered. "You'll ruin your figure," she warned.

The former model stuck her tongue out. "Hasn't happened yet, and I eat what I want, when I want. Believe me, I'm never watching what I eat again."

Laughing, Nomad quickly changed into her usual uniform of fatigues and a white tank top, then followed the other woman out the door. "You just wait; it'll catch up to you."

"Probably," Covergirl retorted, catching Nomad in a headlock. "But until then, I plan on making a pig out of myself. Especially while Roadblock and Jeckle are manning the kitchen."

* * *

><p>The aroma of baking made Nomad drool as she and Covergirl snuck through the mess hall, creeping up on the food prep bench. Jeckle's back was turned - the young woman was bending over the far bench, a piping bag in her hands. Covergirl pointed to the plate of already iced and decorated cupcakes just in front of her, grinned mischievously, and gave Nomad a thumbs up. They reached out to pluck a couple.<p>

"Back away from the cupcakes."

Both Covergirl and Nomad froze guiltily.

Jeckle was still icing the cakes on the far bench. She hadn't even turned around.

"Dammit…_she_ can do it, too," Covergirl muttered. "Roadblock _always_ does that!"

Jeckle turned around, the piping bag held firmly in between her palms, almost in a pistol-grip. "Stand down, ladies. I'm not afraid to use this."

Not quite holding back a snort, Covergirl eyed her. "You wouldn't."

Jeckle grinned her cheeky grin. "How much you wanna bet?"

Nomad tugged on Covergirl's sleeve. "Don't push her," she said in a stage whisper. "She's close to the edge!"

"Damn right, I am. I've already lost too many innocent cupcakes on my watch - it's not gonna happen again." Jeckle couldn't keep the laughter from her voice. "Now, hands off the goods, or I _will_ ice you. They're for later…or, well…I guess it depends on what goes on at the briefing."

Covergirl sighed. "Oh, alright." She dropped the cake she held gently back onto the plate.

Jeckle grinned triumphantly.

"How do you and Roadblock do it?" the former model asked curiously. "Know when somebody's behind you, I mean."

The other woman sniggered. "It's the pans," she said conspiratorially. "If you put them in the right place, you can see almost the whole mess hall."

Rolling her eyes, Nomad helped herself to a couple of bacon rashers that were sitting in the warmer - the mess was mostly empty at this time, but the current sessions of PT and hand-to-hand would already be almost halfway through, and the Joes or greenies would soon be in to grab some food. Most wouldn't have eaten before PT; it was generally a bad idea…unless you _liked_ Beachhead making fun of you as you got reacquainted with your breakfast in reverse.

"Would you like a fork?" Jeckle asked, raising an eyebrow. "Or maybe even a plate, perhaps?"

"We have fingers for a reason," Nomad answered.

"Yeah: to pull triggers."

"Well, that wasn't the first reason that came to mind, but I'll give you that," Nomad said. From the corner of her eye, she saw Covergirl's hand sneaking toward the cupcakes again while Jeckle was distracted.

It didn't work. "Krieger," Jeckle warned.

"But they look so good!"

The smaller Joe sniggered. "Of course they do, _I_ made them!" she retorted, and then she shook her head and waved vaguely at the plate. "Oh, alright. Just one. And I hope it goes straight to your ass," she added good-naturedly.

Covergirl practically pounced on the cupcakes, peeling the paper off one and taking a huge bite. Nomad noticed that underneath the bright blue icing, the cakes themselves were rainbow-coloured. Trust Jeckle to make cupcakes just as bright as she was.

"You're just jealous," Covergirl said through a mouthful of multicoloured crumbs. "Oh my god, these are so good…"

"Jealous? Of your ass? Hell yes, I am!" Jeckle admitted unabashedly. "What girl here _isn't_?" She thought for a moment. "Your ass, and Lady Jaye's boobs. Wish _I_ had boobs like Jaye's."

Covergirl almost choked, she was laughing so hard. Nomad thumped her on the back, smiling broadly and shaking her head. That was Jeckle for you - always saying whatever came to her mind. She hid nothing from anyone.

"Well, it's true!" she was now saying, looking down at her own chest. "Look at me, I've got nothin'!"

"Nothin' of what?" Bazooka asked as he appeared beside Nomad. She jumped a little - she'd been so busy laughing that she hadn't heard him approach.

Jeckle grinned mischievously. "Boobs."

"Oh." Bazooka shifted awkwardly, his face going as red as his favourite shirt. "Uh…"

"Oh, relax," she said, sniggering and sliding an empty plate across the bench to him. "And go easy on the grease, big guy, or you'll have Lifeline on your back. And _nobody_ wants that." She paused. "Poor Lifeline."

Nomad clapped Bazooka on the back, raising an eyebrow at the large mound of scrambled eggs on his plate.

"I'm hungry," he said defensively.

"Oops. Looks like everyone else is, too," Jeckle said, as the mess hall doors swung open and a small squad of greenies made a beeline for the counter. They didn't look roughed up enough to have come from the ninjas' class, and they weren't covered in mud - Nomad guessed they'd just made the most of a slow morning. Lockjaw, Cactus and Atlas were amongst them, but she couldn't see Kismet.

Not that that surprised Nomad - Kismet didn't seem entirely comfortable around anyone but Lifeline, Doc, Psyche Out and Footloose. Every now and then she'd sit with Nomad and the other women at mealtimes, but not often, and when she did she rarely said much.

"And that's our cue," Covergirl said, nudging Nomad. Before Jeckle could stop her, she filched another cupcake and dashed away, giggling.

Nomad gave Jeckle a hopeful grin.

"Oh, go on, you might as well," the other woman said with a sigh. "I have to make a few more batches anyway; I want to have enough to hand out tonight. Or for the others to hand out tonight, if I get shipped out." She gave a shrug. "I'll catch you at the briefing."

Nomad took a cupcake, gave Jeckle a wave, and weaved her way between the loud greenies to see where Covergirl had got to.

It didn't take long to find the former model - most of the Joes, who weren't instructing (or otherwise busy) had gathered in the rec room. It was the most crowded Nomad had ever seen it.

Ace and Shipwreck had commandeered the pool table. Wild Bill and Ripcord squaring off at table tennis, much to the enjoyment of several spectators. Wild Bill was the reigning champ of Pit Ping-Pong; when he was playing, you heard about it. Grand Slam, Short Fuse, Zap and Grunt were sitting on the floor in front of the big flat-screen TV, loudly playing a videogame that seemed to involve a lot of cars crashing rather than cars racing like they were supposed to. She chuckled to herself as she watched Zap; each time he turned his car, he leaned with his whole body rather than just pressing the stick on his controller in the right direction.

Spirit nodded to Nomad as she walked in. She gave him a small smile - she still wasn't quite sure about Charlie Iron-Knife. She'd never really spent all that much time with him, although she _had_ noticed that every now and then a hint of a wicked sense of humour broke through that calm, peaceful surface. And he'd always been nice enough to her…he'd never judged her, not even when she'd first arrived at the Pit.

Apparently, Sprit had a tamed eagle. That was pretty cool, if it was true - she wasn't sure it was, though, since it'd been Snow Job who'd told her - but she'd believe _that_ before she believed that Snakes Eyes had a tame wolf.

But a tame wolf would be pretty awesome, too. Maybe she'd have to ask the ninja about that…although it was possible he'd just laugh silently at her and go tell Snow Job he'd tricked another one.

Nomad hadn't seen Snow Job for a while. He'd been posted somewhere down in the arctic with Frostbite, testing equipment. Sometimes, she thought that 'testing equipment' was just an excuse for Hawk to get some of the Joes out of the way for a few weeks. She'd probably cop it sooner or later. It was a wonder she hadn't got it already - it would've saved the general a lot of hassle.

She shouldn't be thinking like that; it was too close to feeling sorry for herself.

Nomad parked herself on the arm of the couch to eat her cupcake and watch the Ping Pong game. Ripcord was hunched over the table, pretending to be a serious contender and trying to put Wild Bill off. It was working a little - the cowboy pilot's moustache twitched as he tried not to laugh. He caught her smiling at him and touched his hat. "Learn from the pros, darlin'," he said with a wink.

She sniggered. "You two? I don't think so."

Ripcord stood up straight and looked at her, feigning hurt and clutching at his chest. "Ouch."

Wild Bill took the opportunity to serve the ball and win a point. Ripcord snapped around. "Hey! That's not fair! Interference!"

Wild Bill shook his head. "Nuh uh. Ya wanna beat me, ya better stay sharp, Rip."

"Bring it on, Texan."

Wild Bill smirked and bounced the table tennis ball on the table. "Get ready for an ass-whoopin', then."

"Oh, I don't _think_ so."

Nomad settled back against the couch. This was going to be good.

* * *

><p>"Aw, you're just sore coz ya lost," Wild Bill said, nudging Ripcord in the ribs as they filed into the briefing room.<p>

"I'm not sore," Ripcord protested good-naturedly. "I know I could beat you if you didn't cheat."

"Cheat?" Wild Bill chuckled. "Nope. I don't needa cheat."

"Oh yeah? Well, explain -"

Shaking her head, Nomad left them to find a seat a little farther back in the room, in the fifth row rather than the third. Lady Jaye and Covergirl were already there; Jaye patted the chair beside her, and Nomad sank onto it. From there, she watched the rest of the Joes file into the lecture hall-like room; Quick Kick, Alpine, and Jeckle were last in. Tripwire sat on her other side, after almost flattening her when he tripped over his own feet.

Duke leaned against the desk at the front of the room, his arms crossed over his broad chest as he spoke to Leatherneck in the front row. Beside him, Breaker, Mainframe and Dial Tone were poring over several bits of paper. Mainframe was leaning his elbows on the desk, absently tapping his chin with the remote for the large projector screen on the front wall.

"Alright, people, listen up!" Duke yelled, standing up straight. As the room fell silent, he stepped to the side and took a seat himself. "Mains, Breaker, Dial Tone, floor's yours. Short and sweet, guys."

Mainframe gestured to Dial Tone. The bereted communications guy glanced around the room, looking a little nervous. He wasn't one for taking charge. Nomad knew the feeling - but at least she hid it better than Dee Tee did.

"Okay," Dial Tone started. "So, you all know we've been monitoring the situation on Cobra's neurotoxin missiles, right? Up until now, we haven't had much luck; the snakes have been covering their slippery trails pretty well. There've been no leads, no tips, no clues as to where they are or how far they've progressed. Until now."

"Cobra got lazy," Breaker said, taking up the story as Dial Tone gestured to him. "Early this morning, we intercepted a call to the Extensive Enterprises building."

Nomad straightened. She'd heard of Extensive Enterprises before - it was a firm run by twins called Tomax and Xamot. The twins often worked with Cobra Commander and Destro; they were the commanders of the Crimson Guard.

Nomad had only had one run-in with the Crimson Twins: back in Sierra Gordo, when Lowlight had been shot. They'd snuck up on her as she, Recondo and Outback waited for the chopper evac. One of them had hit her and snatched her gun, but as soon as Recondo had shown up, they'd bolted. Apparently, they felt more at home behind their desks rather than in the field.

Lowlight was sitting a couple of rows in front. Nomad fixed her eyes on the back of his head; as usual, the familiar beanie was jammed down over his blonde curls and his goggles were perched on top.

He had scars from that mission…scars because of -

No. They'd been through all that. He didn't blame her for it. He'd said so.

"Hey," Lady Jaye said, nudging Nomad. "You listening?"

"Wha - oh, yeah."

Breaker was still talking. "- wasn't all in open, but we were able to figure out the general idea. The missiles are almost ready; a prototype will be completed in the next week. Dee Tee?"

"Uh…yeah." Dial Tone stepped forward again. Behind him and Breaker, Mainframe looked quite content to just lean on the desk and listen. "We were able to trace the call to a small town in Botswana, South Africa," Dial Tone explained. "Which in itself wouldn't really be enough to raise suspicion…I mean even places like that -"

"Dial Tone," Duke said impatiently.

"Sorry, Duke." Dial Tone shot the first shirt on apologetic look. "Anyway, the thing is, this small town? It's a ghost town. At least, on the surface. There is _nothing_ there. It's like -"

"Only the important bits, Dial Tone," Duke interrupted, tapping his foot.

Dial Tone sighed. "You got it, Top. We ran scans on the area. There's a maze of tunnels underneath the town leading two miles north, to an abandoned diamond mine. The scans indicate that underneath the old mine shafts there's a large open space…very un-mine-like. There's one main entrance, smaller entrances about a mile east and west. Flat terrain all around, very little cover. Probably why the tunnels were built - to avoid detection."

Lady Jaye leaned close to Nomad. "At least he's good with the radio," she whispered.

Nomad hid a grin behind her hand and stifled a snort.

Mainframe clicked a button on his remote, and an image appeared on the projector screen. It was mostly brown, with a few splotchy bits of green.

"This is an aerial photo of the mine," Dial Tone said needlessly, ignoring the exasperated shakes of the head several of the Joes gave. "We got it off the satellite a few hours ago, as soon as we intercepted the call. Compare it to this one, taken several _months_ ago."

Mainframe hit the button again.

The landscape in the next image looked pretty much the same; the same scraggly treetops, the same flat brown earth. However, in_ this_ photo there was a large, yawning scar in the centre. Tracks emerged from it, and on the tracks was a couple of rust-coloured rectangles - mine carts. A little further along, another cart lay on its side. It looked like they hadn't been used for a long, _long_ time.

"This is the main entrance of the mine as it _used_ to look," Dial Tone said. "None of this -" He used a laser pointer to circle the scar, "- is visible anymore."

Mainframe turned to raise an eyebrow at the assembled Joes. "Three guesses as to who could've covered _that_ up so well," he said dryly.

Breaker rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but they couldn't hide forever, could they?"

Duke stood up. Nodding to him, Breaker, Dial Tone and Mainframe gathered up their pages and took seats.

"So that's the deal," the top sergeant said.

Stalker, one row in front and two seats to Nomad's left, shifted. "How long's the mine been abandoned?"

Duke glanced up to Mainframe, now sitting on Tripwire's other side.

"Several miners died in a cave in at the deepest part of the mine in the early sixties. Not long after that, the mine was declared structurally unsafe and closed down," the vet answered. "They didn't even dig the bodies out. There's no chance of fortune hunters scrounging around for leftover diamonds - they're all long gone."

With a grin, Covergirl clicked her fingers and loudly said, "Damn."

When the chuckles died down, Duke continued. "We all know how important this mission will be," he said. "I've already sent Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Tunnel Rat and Outback to do some recon. They'll be bouncing a sitrep back in a few hours, as well as photos and a report on the mine layout. As far as we know, we have a week before the first prototype is completed. We have to assume there'll be a test as well - I want that stopped. That's our main objective."

Nomad nodded to herself. Of course, Cobra Commander would want to test the neurotoxin missiles before ordering a large supply from Destro. She couldn't quite repress her shudder; Tripwire glanced at her questioningly. She shook her head at him with a small smile and turned her attention back to Duke, who was still talking.

"There'll be three teams," the top sergeant was saying. "The clearance team, which will split into sub-units and enter the mine via each of the three entrances to clear the way. Same goes for the infiltration team; they'll split up and sneak into the actual missile production area. A third team will remain at the ghost town. They'll make sure nobody sneaks up on the other teams from behind and, if needed, provide backup. I won't be naming names until I get the sitrep from the recon team, but are there any volunteers?"

Naturally, every single person in the room - Nomad included - raised their hand.

Duke nodded, flashing the room a rare grin. "Good. I'll let you know who's in when I get the report. Dismissed."

* * *

><p>After the briefing, the day returned to normal - or as normal as it could, under the circumstances. The atmosphere in the Pit was tense, everyone wondering whether they were about to be deployed to South Africa or not.<p>

Or at least, Nomad was. As Duke said, this _was_ an important mission - massively important. If the Joes weren't able to stop the production of the neurotoxin missiles…Nomad didn't even want to _think_ about what would happen.

But she wanted to go on this op. She'd been on Cobra Island when she'd first heard about the missiles - half-dead on the floor beside the brainwave scanner. She wanted to see this finished, first-hand, not just hear about it from the Joes who _did_ go on the mission.

The only thing was, after what had happened with Goldilocks…Nomad wasn't sure whether Duke would risk having her on the team. She didn't blame him - if she was in his place, she probably wouldn't have her on the team, either.

Anyway, her shoulder still ached a little from her leap out the window of the cancer research building. Lifeline had said to watch it; any undue stress on it might pop it out of joint.

Then again, Nomad figured that if yesterday's impromptu hand-to-hand session hadn't dislocated it, _nothing_ would. She was sure Storm Shadow had done everything he could to make her hit the mat - she'd spent more time faceplanting the floor than she had on her feet. He had _not_ been impressed with her walking out of his lesson.

Nomad took a swig from her water bottle and increased the speed on the treadmill, searching through her iPod for a song that she could turn up loud.

"Nomad."

Wiping the sweat from her forehead, she yanked the earphones out and stopped the treadmill as Duke approached. He had his game face on - he must've got the sitrep from the advance team in Botswana.

So. This was it. "Duke," she replied cautiously. By the look on his face, she could tell what was coming; he was going to say she was sitting this one out. He couldn't risk her blowing the mission by freaking out.

"You're on clearance team 'Ghost Two', with Spirit and Scarlett," Duke said, taking her completely by surprise. "Tunnel Rat'll join you when you rendezvous with the recon team."

Nomad stared at him.

"Is that understood, Nomad?"

"Uh…yeah. Yeah," she answered quickly. "I just kinda expected to be sitting this one out, that's all," she admitted.

Duke pointed at her, but when he spoke again his tone wasn't _quite_ as stern as his expression. "Deal with your issues in your own time," he said bluntly. "You're going because you can move quiet and you're good in the dark."

"Yeah, but my experience is in _jungles_, not _tunnels_," she pointed out.

Why was she arguing? She _wanted_ to go on this op.

"Suck it up," Duke ordered. "You'll have NVGs, anyway, but if you lose 'em you'll be running blind. We gear up in two hours and move out in three. Do what you need to do."

"You got it, Duke."

* * *

><p>When Nomad got back to her room, she found Beachhead waiting outside, leaning against the wall. "Uh…did you want something?" she asked.<p>

"Ah'm waitin' fer Courtney," the Ranger answered gruffly.

"Oh…okay." Nomad let herself into the room. "Covergirl, Beach's waiting -"

The gorgeous woman grinned. "I know," she answered. "I would've let him in, but I figured you'd be coming back soon." She paused, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Uh…would you mind…Beach is on the infiltration team, and I'm in the backup unit, and…" She trailed off, giving Nomad a small grin.

It took a moment for her to click. "Oh. _Oh_, I so didn't need to know that. Sure. I'm outta here."

Covergirl grinned. "Thanks, Nomad."

Nomad faked a shudder. "You shouldn't be thanking me, you should be apologising for grossing me out."

Covergirl flipped her off. Nomad dumped her training gear on her bed and got out of there as fast as she could. "All yours, Beach."

He grunted something she didn't catch and strode into the room. Nomad heard the door lock behind him.

With a slight smile and a shake of her head, Nomad headed off, intending to get as far away from that room as possible.

* * *

><p>This was the part that she'd never been good at - the waiting. She never knew what to do.<p>

You never said goodbye. It was an unspoken rule; no goodbyes. The same as never admitting feelings for somebody before a mission, or giving something as a good luck charm. You did that, you were bound to not come home.

It was a stupid, superstitious thing. It didn't matter what you said before you left, what little charm or trinket you had in your pocket; you were just as likely to get shot as anybody else.

Still…Nomad didn't like to say goodbye. Not before missions, anyway. It was always just 'be careful', or 'take care', or maybe even 'see you later'. Nothing as final as goodbye.

She was never saying goodbye again.

The plan was a familiar one - it was basically the same as the Guatemala mission, only instead of providing a distraction for the team sneaking into the base, Nomad's unit would be clearing the way - getting rid of as much security around the mine as possible, by any _means_ possible.

She almost hoped there was a lot of security guards, and at least one of them put up a fight. She owed Cobra for -

But she shouldn't be thinking like that. Hell, it'd be a miracle if once - just _once_ - a mission went off without a hitch. If the Joes got in, did their jobs, and got out again without anyone getting hurt or worse. After all, they _were_ the best of the best. As Stalker had once said: 'We do the impossible and make it look easy'.

Hopefully, they could make this one look _really_ easy.

Nomad shook her head, as if that'd clear all those thoughts away. She checked her watch; she had another two hours before she had to gear up and get herself in the right mindset for an op. For now, she should relax - as much as she could - and enjoy hanging out with her friends. It might be -

…Stop that.

Again, she shook her head. Glancing at her watch - even though she'd just checked it a moment ago - she made her way to the mess hall.

* * *

><p>"I like this gear," Jeckle said. "I always thought Snakes had the right idea, dressing all in black. Very slimming, you know."<p>

Nomad grinned, looking over to see Roadblock roll his eyes and clap her on the shoulder with a hand that could have sent her flying. "Any slimmer an' you'd be see-through," the heavy gunner said critically.

"Hey. I look hot in black." With a snigger, Jeckle pulled her black ski mask down over her face, so all that was visible were her green eyes. "See?"

Nomad grabbed her gun - an unmarked assault rifle. All the Joes were carrying unmarked weapons; in fact, they were carrying unmarked _everything_. It was part of the mission briefing Stalker had given them when they'd walked into the arms room and seen the mottled black and grey fatigues waiting for them.

"We're goin' incognito," Stalker had explained. "We ain't goin' in as Joes this time. We ain't even goin' in as regular army."

In short, the Joes were posing as mercenaries. The body armour they'd been supplied with was mismatched and…well, it _looked_ shabby, but it was actually good quality stuff. It'd just been…'customised' was the closest word Nomad could think of…to look dodgy and well-used.

Along with the Kevlar and dark fatigues and the rifle, Nomad also had two K-bar knives, several ammo clips and two pistols with silencers screwed onto the barrels. She also had two spare silencers tucked into the pockets of the BDUs.

She sighed, disappointed. This was the second mission she hadn't been able to take her own gun. She _hated_ using guns that weren't hers - she didn't trust them. She knew it was irrational; after all, Snake Eyes insisted on checking the weapons when they were put away.

But she knew she wasn't the only one. Most of the Joes were picky when it came to their weapons - of course they all had their preferences; Barbecue his axe, Blowtorch his flamethrower, Scarlett her crossbow. Even Lady Jaye had a thing for javelins, but admitted they weren't very practical.

There were a lot of Joes going on this mission. Nomad's team was codenamed 'Ghost Two' - they were entering the mine via the smaller entrance to the east. 'Ghost One' - Snake Eyes, Stalker, and Flint - were taking the main entrance. Storm Shadow, Quick Kick, Dusty and Outback made up the last team, 'Ghost Three', and would get in through the west entrance.

Nomad sheathed the two big knives she'd equipped, one in a thigh sheath, the other in one of the straps crossing over her chest. She felt almost naked without her ninja knife at her wrist. If all went well, though, she wouldn't need it - hopefully, the weapons she had would be enough.

"Alright," Stalker called suddenly. "Let's get rollin', people."

Nomad squared her shoulders and cast a quick look around the room. They were loosely gathered in their teams, already talking tactics; the 'Ghosts' in one corner; the three 'Funnelweb' infiltration teams - Beachhead, Tripwire, Breaker, Mainframe, Short Fuse, Scoop, Roadblock, Rock 'n' Roll, Airtight, Dusty, Bazooka and Doc - in another; and the backup team of Dial Tone, Jeckle, Lifeline, Clutch, Lowlight, Sci-Fi, Covergirl and Leatherneck. While the backup team had originally been designated simply as 'Bravo', Jeckle had complained, and had conferred with Clutch to come up with - predictably - 'Bravo Awesome'. Or 'BA' for short, which had segued into 'Mr. T'. The backup team was now know as 'T-Team'.

"Come on," Scarlett said, whacking Nomad lightly on the shoulder as she got to her feet.

Nomad rolled the hem of her ski mask up until it looked like a beanie, grabbed her night-vision goggles and headset and waited for the line of Joes to file out of the room and head for the elevator.

"Nomad."

She looked over her shoulder. "Lowlight," she answered with a grin.

He returned her gaze, his blue eyes meeting hers. God, she didn't need this…she didn't need her heart skittering wildly like it was. Not now, not when they were just about to head off. Did he know what he was doing to her? Did he have _any_ idea how much she…

How much she…what?

No. Stop that. Not now, not _now_. If she thought about that, she might as well just chuck it all in.

"Be careful," he said.

"You, too," she replied.

For a moment, they just looked at each other. Then, unable - unable? No…un_willing_ - to stop herself, Nomad grabbed the front of Lowlight's shirt and pulled his head down, kissing him hard.

He responded instantly, his arms slipping around her waist and yanking her tight against him, kissing back hungrily. Nomad let out a little gasp as her back hit the wall and Lowlight slipped his hand down the front of her fatigues.

"Coop -" Why hadn't she found him _before_? Covergirl and Beachhead had had the right idea… "God, Coop -"

He stopped, resting his forehead against hers, his arms braced on the wall either side of her face. "Come back safe," he murmured.

She smiled at him. "Well, now I have to," she answered quietly. "We have to finish this."

Lowlight grinned his crooked grin. "That was my plan."

"We should go."

"Here."

Nomad turned back to him as she walked out the door to see him holding out another knife. It was a simple little pocket knife, not a K-bar. She took it and tucked it down the side of her boot. "Thanks."

Lowlight nodded, tipping her head up and stealing one more kiss, this one slow and gentle. "Nomad…"

"Yeah?" She looked up at him, and frowned when she saw the expression on his face. "What?"

He looked at her a moment longer. "Nothing," he said finally. "Let's go; they'll be waiting."

The sniper strode from the room. Nomad watched his back as he left, her eyes narrowed. Something was up with Lowlight - first last night, when he'd gotten a little weird after she'd told him she still preferred to be called her codename, and now…

Now…what? Just because he'd started to say something, and then changed his mind, something had to be wrong? That was just stupid. They both had a mission to concentrate on - he probably just hadn't wanted to get sidetracked.

Like she was, right now. Dammit.

Well…whatever it was, it'd have to wait until they got back.

If -

No. Definitely when. _When_ they got back.

Trying to forget how flustered his touch made her feel, Nomad made sure she hadn't forgotten anything, then hurried after him. "Hey, wait up!"


	13. Chapter 13

GOtta be quick - don't wanna get sprung slacking off at work! Heh heh heh.

THanks for reviews and everything! Much appreciated!

* * *

><p>There were three VAMPs loaded in the hold of the C-130. Only T-Team would need them, and even that was only in case they were actually required to assist. The Ghost and Funnelweb teams would jump from the plane in their units and make their way to their respective mine entrances overland. It would mean a long run in the dark - if all went to plan, they'd reach the tunnels just before the sun rose.<p>

_If_ all went to plan.

Nomad yawned, stretched, and looked at her watch again. They'd been in the air for hours; it was only another fifteen minutes before they reached the scheduled drop zone for the backup team - a few miles away from the ghost town which had once been home to the men who worked in the diamond mine. Due to the roundabout route they were taking to avoid detection, it was another forty five minutes before she, Spirit and Scarlett would stride down the open cargo ramp and make their HALO jump, then run the five miles to the mine's smaller east entrance.

It wasn't just Joes going on this mission, either - there was also at least twenty greenshirts accompanying them. Five would stay with T-Team at the ghost town, the other fifteen would divide themselves amongst Funnelweb. Atlas, Lockjaw and Cactus were in the group. Kismet had stayed behind; Lifeline and Doc had left her in charge of the infirmary in their absence.

"What are you looking at?"

Nomad glanced up, thinking that Duke - who'd met them at the airfield and was, of course, honchoing the op - was talking to her. He wasn't; it was Jeckle, sitting beside her, who'd copped his attention.

"Nothing," the young Joe answered with a grin. "I was just wondering if you're gonna end up in a coma again."

"_What_?"

"Well, Shipwreck said you end up in comas a lot."

Nomad couldn't help but admire Jeckle's guts. Duke had his moments, when he relaxed - slightly - and had a laugh, but just before a mission usually wasn't one of those moments.

The first shirt sighed impatiently and headed up toward the cockpit. Jeckle caught Nomad's eye and grinned. "Oh, hey! I forgot!"

Nomad wasn't the only one who watched curiously as Jeckle bounced up from her makeshift seat on an empty crate, hurried over to the first VAMP and reached into the back. She brought out a large plastic container; through the sides, Nomad could make out several brightly coloured objects.

"Who wants cupcakes?" Jeckle called, removing the lid to reveal a batch of the rainbow cupcakes she'd been baking that morning. "I made some extras, just for us." She was immediately obscured from view by a swarm of greenies, Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll and Dusty. "Wait a sec, Airtight, this one with the peanut butter on it's yours. Man, you're _weird_."

Nomad shook her head. Airtight and his peanut butter…

"Nomad, catch!"

"Whoa!" Nomad raised a hand and caught the cupcake Dusty lobbed to her. Beside her, Scarlett and Covergirl caught cakes of their own, tossed high over the greenies' heads by Rock 'n' Roll.

Jeckle reappeared a few moments later when the feeding frenzy dispersed, still grinning, and wandered around the hold, offering the bright cakes to the rest of the Joes. Nomad watched as Beachhead declined - but when Jeckle shrugged and went to move on, he stopped her and took one.

Beside Nomad, Covergirl giggled as Beach studied the rainbow colours for a moment then rolled his eyes. "He's hopeless," she said loudly. Nomad sniggered.

Beach shot a glare in their direction and crammed what was left of the cupcake into his mouth quickly, as if he was ashamed to be seen eating something so bright.

"Chew, Wayne," Covergirl called. "You're as bad as Junk and Order."

He flipped her off. Covergirl returned the gesture primly.

"_Alright, pards, DZ One comin' up,_" Wild Bill said, his voice tinny over the PA. "_T-Team - thanks, Jeck, darlin' - T-Team, prep for launch. ETA three minutes._"

The lights in the hold dimmed, replaced by the red glow of the jump-light. All of a sudden, the almost-relaxed atmosphere in the C-130 changed, the Joes - and greenies - immediately focused on what they had to do. Clutch started unfastening the belts holding the VAMPs in place.

Nomad's eyes flicked over to Lowlight as the sniper got to his feet. He hadn't spoken a word to her since they'd left the arms room - he'd met her eyes and smiled, but he hadn't said anything. Actually, he'd stayed on the opposite side of the plane for the entire flight.

It was probably a good thing. She didn't need any more distractions - during the short drive to the airfield, Nomad had felt tingles where he'd touched her. It didn't help that he'd been squeezed into the VAMP beside her, his leg pressed firmly against hers.

He didn't need the distraction, either. Last time they'd been on a mission together…

"He's gonna be fine," Scarlett said quietly, gently elbowing her in the ribs.

Nomad gave herself a mental kick in the ass. There was no time to start doubting herself now. If she was going do that, she might as well go tell Duke she was pulling out. And there was no way in hell _that_ was going to happen. Duke, like Stalker (and Hawk, of course), had always given her a chance - but he'd also always made it clear that if she fucked up, she'd be off the active roster. Despite everything, Nomad wasn't quite sure she'd proved herself to the top sergeant just yet.

She wasn't the only one who was watching T-Team as they crammed into the three jeeps, though. Beachhead was looking intently at Covergirl, a carefully blank expression on his face.

Nomad almost patted him on the arm. Almost; she decided she wanted to keep her hand attached.

Jeckle sprinted back through the hold, tossing the now empty cupcake carrier to Quick Kick as she passed. "Wait for me!"

Leatherneck grabbed her under the arms and literally threw her into one of the jeeps. Nomad knew he didn't have much patience for Jeckle; she was too…boisterous…for him.

Then again, Leatherneck didn't have much patience for _anyone_.

The loading ramp started to open; Nomad felt the cold air swirling around her. All she could see past the slowly widening gap was black.

"_Bon voyage_," Clutch said, waving to the remaining troops as he backed the first VAMP into its waiting crate and Stalker and Spirit bolted it closed. When it hit the ground, the crate would burst open, allowing Clutch to gun the engine and drive straight out.

Nomad watched, her heart beating faster than it should be, as the car carrying Lowlight backed into position. Covergirl was driving - she gave a reassuring grin, but Nomad barely noticed it; Lowlight's bright blue eyes were fixed on her.

Dammit…it shouldn't be this hard to resist the urge to dash forward and kiss him once more, just in case. She needed to get a grip.

She'd never had this problem before. It hadn't been like this a couple of days ago, when she'd left to help guard the President. Had Goldilocks freaked her out _that_ much?

Nomad didn't think so. It'd been a shock, sure, but now she was more angry about it than anything. No…this was different. This was…well, she didn't quite know what this was. Maybe it was because this time he was putting himself in the possible line of danger, as well. Would she feel the same if it was only _her_?

Short answer: no.

What if she never saw Lowlight again? What if she never got to ask him what was wrong? Just thinking about it made her chest tighten up painfully. It reminded her of when she'd resigned; how she'd felt on the worst days, when she'd missed Lowlight - and the rest of the Joes - so much she hadn't wanted to get out of bed.

Nomad had heard of missing someone so much it hurt. She'd never thought it was true. She'd certainly never thought _she'd_ feel that way.

Hell, she'd never thought she'd ever -

But now was _not_ the time to be thinking about that.

Lowlight's gaze never left her face. Not until Spirit, glancing over his shoulder at her with a sympathetic look on his usually stoic face, raised the side of the crate and fastened it shut.

"Later, dudes!" Jeckle called, leaning out of the jeep Leatherneck was driving. "Hey, Leatherneck, can I have the window seat?"

Leatherneck grabbed the back of her shirt and yanked her back into her seat. "Siddown and shuddup," was the last thing Nomad heard before the crate closed.

The ramp was open all the way. "All clear?" Stalker asked.

"Clear!" came Spirit's answer.

They launched the crates. As they dropped out of sight, Nomad puffed her cheeks and blew out the long breath she hadn't even realised she'd been holding.

Squaring her shoulders, she pushed all other thoughts to the back of her mind. Lowlight and the others could look after themselves. Right now, she had to focus on what _she_ had to do.

Nomad turned, grabbed her night-vision goggles and began to check them again.

* * *

><p>Fifteen minutes later, the Ghost and Funnelweb One teams made their jump five miles north of the abandoned diamond mine's main entrance. Nomad felt the first butterflies stirring in her belly, the adrenalin starting to pump through her. Only another fifteen minutes until Ghost Two's jump. Her leg bounced impatiently until Spirit placed a firm hand on her knee to stop it.<p>

She couldn't help but wonder whether the Native American man was as calm on the inside as he looked on the outside. "Hey, Spirit?" she asked hesitantly.

He glanced down at her. "Yes?"

"Do you really have a tame eagle?"

Spirit leaned back in his seat. "Freedom is not 'tame'," he corrected patiently. "But we have an understanding."

Nomad looked at him curiously. "How?"

He looked back at her. "I helped to raise him. The mother eagle had been killed when she collided with powerlines. I took the one egg that remained to an eagle sanctuary. He was eventually released back into the wild, but every now and then, he finds me. He has saved my life on many occasions."

Nomad nodded, though she still didn't exactly get how the eagle could just 'find' Spirit. "Will I get to see him one day?"

"I'm sure you will."

"Cool."

She was about to ask about Snake Eyes' wolf - Spirit was less likely to laugh at her if it _was_ one of Snow Job's cons - when the PA system clicked on. "_Ghost Two, Funnelweb Two, prep for jump,_" Wild Bill advised. "_Coming up on the drop zone in three minutes._"

Spirit, Scarlett and Nomad stood up.

"Nomad."

She turned to see Dusty a few feet away, his hands covered with paint. Instead of his usual mottled brown warpaint, he had a thick stripe of black across his eyes. When he pulled his balaclava over his head, the only part of him that would be visible in the dark would be the whites of his eyes. While the terrain in this part of Botswana wasn't exactly Dusty's specialty - it was more scrubland than desert - Nomad still almost felt sorry for any bad guys who might try to sneak up on him.

She beckoned him over and tilted her head up. He swiped his hands over her closed eyes, giving her a stripe of black to match his. "There ya go," he said with a grin. "Now you're all set."

Nomad nodded her thanks, not quite trusting her voice not to shake. It was almost go time - she was jittery, like she always got a few minutes before a mission.

Dusty seemed to realise that, and with a friendly wink he backed away to stand with the rest of Funnelweb Two; Short Fuse, Rock 'n' Roll and Bazooka. Duke had focused mainly on destructive force for the Funnelweb team - all he wanted to do was prevent Cobra obtaining any neurotoxin missiles.

That was why Airtight had been on Funnelweb One with the top sergeant. That was why they each had a heavy-duty gas mask hanging from their webbing.

They lined up by the opening cargo ramp. Nomad barely heard Wild Bill's customary 'Good huntin'' as she checked Spirit's harness and gave him the okay. In turn, Scarlett checked Nomad's harness, tugging on the straps to make sure the buckles were all secure and that when the 'chute opened Nomad wouldn't simply slip out and plunge to her death. She had no doubts about the parachute itself - they'd been packed under Ripcord's careful supervision, and he'd done a few himself, of course. As far as Nomad knew, there'd been no accidents on Ripcord's watch.

"Ready?" Scarlett asked, clapping Nomad on the shoulder.

In answer, Nomad pulled her ski mask over her face and put on her night-vision goggles. The dim red glow of the hold's lights was replaced by an eerie green digital view. She fastened her facemask over her mouth.

None of them hesitated. Spirit went first, simply stepping off the end of the ramp and dropping out of sight. Nomad went next. She ran the length of the cargo ramp and hurled herself out into the thin, cold night air. It was the only way to go.

Nomad had always liked skydiving - ever since she'd first been offered the chance in the regular army, when one of the senior officers had asked her unit, quite offhandedly, 'So who wants to jump out of a plane?'. She'd put her hand up straight away; she'd always wanted to do it, but hadn't been able to afford it - and even if she had, her mother wouldn't have allowed it. She liked the rush of the wind buffeting past her, the roar in her ears, the sudden quiet as the parachute burst out of the pack and unfurled above her, yanking her into a gentle descent. Since being a Joe, she'd got to jump more than she had in the regular army - in just a few months, this was her third time.

She checked her altimeter. This was a HALO jump - High Altitude, Low Opening. The idea was to pull the ripcord at the last moment to give the minimal amount of gliding time - giving the bad guys less time to spot you and shoot you out of the sky.

Spirit's 'chute opened up below and to her right. Nomad gave it a few more seconds, intently watching her altimeter, then pulled the cord. Her own dark grey parachute snapped out and she jerked upright. Somewhere above her, Scarlett and the others would soon be doing the same.

She hit the flat, scrubby ground and rolled to her feet, already unbuckling her harness and dragging her parachute in toward her. It billowed softly to the ground, catching on the small, dry plants dotted across the plain. She bundled it up in her arms as tightly as she could, then crouched in the long grass, pulled the small shovel from her webbing and buried it. Spirit joined her once he was done with his own parachute - he helped her cover up her clumsy shovel marks and scatter the earth displaced by the 'chute. As they headed over to help Scarlett, Nomad glanced over her shoulder; she could barely tell where she'd landed.

Scarlett was almost done when they reached her. With all three of them, it took no time at all to finish up.

Spirit glanced up at the stars, then started walking; he didn't need a compass. Nomad knew better than to question his sense of direction. For a brief moment, she remembered Sierra Gordo, when Outback had gently mocked her for needing one.

She and Scarlett glanced at each other and shrugged before following. Nomad wondered vaguely if she looked as sinister as Scarlett did, dressed all in black with the NVGs over her eyes and the skydiving mask dangling around her neck. Roadblock, Beachhead and Rock 'n' Roll had looked absolutely formidable when they were gearing up. Clutch had been his usual self, donning his gasmask and quoting Darth Vader, making Jeckle giggle and everyone else roll their eyes.

Hell, even Lifeline had looked a little scary, and Nomad had thought _that_ practically impossible. Naturally, he wasn't armed, but the black case his medical supplies were in looked ominous rather than reassuring.

The three of them ran quickly, spread out with Spirit on point and Scarlett at the rear, taking what shelter they could from the small prickly bushes and the sparse, scraggly trees. They were still four miles from the mine's east entrance. Nomad ran with her unmarked assault rifle gripped tightly, half-expecting to hear shouts and gunfire at any moment - but there were none. Once they got closer, they'd have to go more carefully; the tunnel wouldn't be left unguarded.

Before long, they were within a mile of the tunnel. The three Joes stopped and threw themselves flat on their bellies, at least fifty metres between each of them.

"_See anything_?" Scarlett asked, her voice low as it came in over Nomad's headset.

"_Negative_," Spirit answered. Nomad could barely see either of them from the corner of her eyes; the black fatigues, while not as effective as mottled grey out here in the clear, moonlit night, were still effective in the swaying grass. Lying statue-still, they'd all but disappeared.

"_Let's move_."

It was a long way to belly-crawl. Despite the chilly air, Nomad was soon sweating. The ski mask soaked up most of the perspiration before it trickled into her eyes and streaked her warpaint - not that it would really matter unless she lost her night-vision goggles. They covered the part of her face that the balaclava left exposed.

"_Wait. Shit, I didn't even see him - Nomad, at your ten, close._"

Nomad froze at Scarlett's word, every muscle tense. Her eyes darted sideways; she hadn't seen anything, either. She still couldn't. Automatically, her grip tightened on her gun. "I don't -"

"_Don't shoot, it's just me. What took you so long_?"

With a muttered oath, Nomad let her head drop onto her forearms. "Nicky Lee, I could've killed you!" She kept her voice down, barely whispering the words - her throat mike would pick them up anyway, and Scarlett, Spirit and Tunnel Rat would hear her clearly.

"_Sorry_," he said with a quiet chuckle. About twenty metres away, she saw him raise his hand and wave slightly. His face was streaked with grey paint, his dark hair covered by the ever-present grey bandana.

Nomad swore at him again. "I still _could_ kill you, you know," she growled.

"_And I love you, too, Nomad. I just wasn't sure you weren't bad guys sneaking up on me sneaking up on the _other_ bad guys_."

"_You were supposed to meet us inside_," Scarlett pointed out.

"_I know. It was a bit harder getting away from the ghost town than I thought_," Rat admitted ruefully. When he continued, his tone was brighter, though still serious."_But_ _I've already disabled the tripwires around the mine entrance. We'll be good to go once we get rid of the goon patrol. Shouldn't be too hard - they've got complacent; they aren't expecting a thing, and there's only two of 'em_."

"_Well_," Scarlett answered. "_Let's go bag us some snakes. Quick and quiet. Funnelweb Two will be on our asses pretty soon._"

They crawled in a staggered line across the dry ground, a few feet at a time - and only one of them moving at any time - pausing in the twisted shadows or in the longer dry grass. The ground was dusty; Nomad, who normally felt a little claustrophobic when she wore masks, was glad for the balaclava; it kept the dust out of her nose. No sneezing to alert the Cobra troops to her position.

Finally, after twenty long, _long_ minutes, they were within range. The mine entrance was in sight; a small mound of excavated rock and dirt that surrounded a pitch black opening in the earth. There were no mine cart tracks leading out of this one - just a rough, driveway-like stretch of rough gravel.

Two blue-uniformed men sat casually on rickety crates either side of the entrance. One of them was smoking; the orange glow of his cigarette was all too obvious in the dark. The other one was scuffing at the ground with his feet, apparently bored. Neither of them wore their helmets or masks.

They'd never even know what hit them.

"_Spirit_," Scarlett - CO of the unit - whispered. "_Take the smoker. I've got the other one_."

"_Affirmative_."

Nomad waited anxiously. This was it. This was where the action started - if either of the Cobra troops managed to get out an alarm, the whole mission was blown. Cobra Commander would pull _everything_ out of Botswana: the troops, the missiles…and there was no doubt that he'd destroy the facility, too. There'd be nothing left but a huge big crater where the lab - or whatever it was - would collapse in on itself. He'd probably had the ghost town rigged with explosives, too.

Hell, he might not even wait to get his troops out first. The Commander was insane enough to blow the whole thing with them all in it, especially if there was a chance he might take out a squad of Joes in doing so.

Spirit had almost reached Smoker when there was a soft _fwip_ from somewhere to Nomad's right. Ahead, the second soldier suddenly jerked upright, twitched, and fell backwards off his crate.

Nomad heard Smoker's puzzled, "What the -?" She also heard the sharp crack his neck made when Spirit snapped it.

"_Go, go_," Scarlett whispered, following her own advice and leaping to her feet.

Nomad lunged up and bolted for the mine entrance, aware of Tunnel Rat behind her to the left. Slightly ahead, Scarlett was reloading her crossbow on the run. Spirit had already propped both Cobra troops up on their crates and stripped them of their headsets. He now wore one; he passed the other to Tunnel Rat as the smaller man darted past him into the mine.

Even with the night-vision goggles, the hole in the ground was so dark that Nomad almost expected to bounce right off it when she ran in, or maybe even be engulfed in some kind of black ooze. Of course, neither of those things happened…but it still reminded her a little of a cartoon, where Bugs Bunny or Wile E Coyote or somebody pulled a round black hole out of an invisible pocket, threw it on the wall and jumped through.

She found herself looking over Tunnel Rat's shoulder into the rough-edged mineshaft. As far as she could see, it went straight. Wooden beams supported the roof, some new - obviously brought in by Cobra - some old and dry and splintery. It was warmer in here than it was outside; once they got a little further in, the air would get even warmer, not stirred by the slight breeze. Hopefully, it would cool down the further down they went. Mines were supposed to be cold, weren't they?

Just out of curiosity, she flipped her goggles up to see how dark it really was. She couldn't see her hand an inch in front of her face; she put the NVGs back on quickly and slung her assault rifle across her back. Here, in the enclosed space, it was silent weapons only - at least until Funnelweb started the fireworks.

"Ghost Two is inside the mine," Scarlett said quietly, keying her headset. Nomad heard her voice both beside her and through the earbud in her ear. "Repeat, Ghost Two is inside the mine."

"_We hear ya, Scarlett,_" Rock 'n' Roll's voice answered. "_Let us know when it's all clear_."

"Affirmative," Scarlett said with a nod, even though Rocky couldn't see her. "Be advised the guards outside the entrance are both dead." She glanced around at the unit. "You know the drill."

The mineshaft sloped downwards at a gentle angle, curving to the right after a few minutes of walking, where they found a long ladder - again, the Cobras had brought this in: it was shiny steel, fastened securely to the wall. The Joes slid the twenty metres down it, not bothering with trivial details such as rungs.

At the bottom was a pile of soft wood - the remains of the original ladder. When Spirit handed her a piece, Nomad easily ground it to gritty powder between her fingers.

They moved on quickly, boots making no noise on the rocky floor. The air grew cooler after five minutes, and was just plain cold after ten. Despite this, Nomad's shirt was soon clinging to her back. Her gloves - the fingerless kind - were damp inside.

Where _was_ everyone? So far, they hadn't seen any Cobra troops except for the two guarding the entrance.

Not that that was a _bad_ thing, Nomad hastily thought, wishing she still had the old bit of ladder in her hands.

The mineshaft began to slope more steeply, and a few minutes later they found the first side tunnel. Spirit headed down it, but returned shortly after. "Dead end," he said in a low voice.

Very soon, there was a new tunnel just about every fifty metres. Some of them ran for only a few feet, as if the miners had changed their minds about digging there; others were longer. Some had high roofs, others were so low that even Tunnel Rat - one of the shortest Joes - had to stoop. If the tunnel was longer than roughly a mile, the Joe searching it would return and catch up to the others.

It was Nomad's turn to check the next side tunnel - she ducked ahead and darted along the narrow offshoot, keeping close to the left side. Tunnel Rat, Scarlett and Spirit moved on past the mouth of the tunnel; Nomad would catch up in a minute or so, and they'd keep leapfrogging each other in this way until they reached their destination. There, they'd wait for Funnelweb Two and provide cover fire if necessary while the big guns did their job.

Up ahead, the tunnel suddenly grew even narrower. Frowning, Nomad paused, pressing her back to the wall. It looked like the miners had hit a big boulder or something that they couldn't just blast out of the way, and had had to dig around it. The result was a tumour-like bulge blocking the way; Spirit would have had trouble squeezing past. Roadblock would never have made it.

She sidled up to the gap, holding her knife ready. The outer leather grip of her fingerless gloves stopped it slipping out of her hand - her palms were sweating. Even with her goggles on, she couldn't see anything but black beyond the grey-green rock wall.

Nomad lunged through the narrow gap, bumping her left shoulder painfully on a piece of rock that stuck out a little more than she'd expected. Damn…that'd leave another bruise.

Just past the gap, the tunnel came to an abrupt end, as if the miners had decided that it simply wasn't worth the effort to keep going. With a sigh of relief, Nomad turned to leave - and froze as her foot kicked something, sending it spinning away with a metallic sound, unbelievably loud in the otherwise silent darkness.

A can. A half-squashed, empty can, one of many littered around the floor of the tiny cave. She rolled one aside with the toe of her boot, then rolled her eyes. The label on it read 'Cobra Cola'; it looked like the snakes used this as a makeshift break room. Slobs.

Twenty seconds passed. Then thirty, and still nobody had come; no alarms had sounded. Nomad couldn't spare any more time than that - the others would be waiting for her. Letting out another sigh, she squeezed past the bulge in the wall and - heart still beating a little faster than usual - she hurried to catch up.

Even though she made no noise, Spirit glanced over his shoulder at her just before she joined them. "Anything?"

She shook her head. "Just a few empty cola cans."

She saw the Native American man's chest rise - it was the only way she could tell if he was about to say something - but suddenly he turned around, his head tilted slightly to one side.

Nomad didn't need to ask what it was; she'd heard the sharp _clack, clack clack,_ as well. It sounded like somebody had just kicked a small rock across the floor. It echoed through the tunnel toward them - ahead, Tunnel Rat and Scarlett were already out of sight. It took Nomad a moment to realise that Scarlett had gone ninja and was clinging, upside down, to one of the support beams across the roof. Tunnel Rat had disappeared. That wasn't surprising - the guy _was_ an expert in crawling around dark places.

Spirit reached out and gave Nomad a firm shove. She staggered sideways, into the shadows of a wall support, just as the green light of her goggles began to grow pale as the light in the tunnel grew brighter.

"About friggin' time," a man's voice grumbled. "I haven't had a break all day."

"Me either," a second man answered. They weren't bothering to keep it down - a good sign. Cobra apparently still didn't know the Joes were there.

Nomad flipped her goggles onto her head before the light got too bright. She blinked in the yellow glow now illuminating the mineshaft. It pulsed oddly; Nomad figured one of the guys was carrying a flashlight, swinging it back and forth as he walked.

Well, _there_ was an advantage Nomad hadn't expected - she'd thought Cobra would have night-vision gear, as well. Maybe the Commander was skimping on the expenses again.

The light grew steadily. The men must have passed underneath Scarlett by now…

From just ahead, there came a soft 'urk' followed by two muffled thuds. Nomad glanced across the tunnel at Spirit. He'd perched his goggles on top of his head as well. He calmly nodded back at her, and as one they both stepped out of their hiding places.

Scarlett had one of the guys slung over her shoulders. Spirit hauled the other one up as she gestured to yet another side tunnel. "Rat, is it all clear down there?"

"_All clear_," Tunnel Rat answered. A few seconds later he reappeared. "There's a junction of tunnels about thirty metres down. Take the right one, it's a dead end. You can dump 'em there."

"Wait here." Scarlett and Spirit disappeared into the darkness.

Nomad grabbed the flashlight and turned it off, only to be struck again by the complete blackness around her. It reminded her forcefully of the Amazon, except here, there wasn't the occasional silver spot of moonlight flickering through a high canopy of leaves.

It wasn't the dark that got to her, though. She _liked_ the dark. But here, there wasn't the rustle of the wind in the trees. There were no animal sounds, scary - like some of the rumbling, growling noises or dying screams of something that had just become dinner - or otherwise, like some of the pretty-sounding birds. The Amazon was never quiet; there was always _something_ going on.

It wasn't what she was used to. She didn't like it.

"Everything okay?"

She started a little guiltily and put her NVGs back on. Tunnel Rat was looking at her expectantly.

Nomad nodded, pocketing the flashlight. "Yeah. Just deciding that I don't like mines," she whispered.

"Feeling claustrophobic?" Rat wondered.

"No…" She paused, then admitted grudgingly, "Maybe a little. It's too…still."

"We should be nearly at the facility," he advised grimly. "Then you're gonna wish it _was_ still."

"Probably."

Spirit and Scarlett returned from dumping the Cobra bodies. Scarlett gave a soft 'hmph'. "Let's hope we don't run into too many more of them," she grumbled.

Nomad silently agreed with the redhead, then, with a quick glance over her shoulder, she followed the others deeper into the mine.

* * *

><p>He had his back to her, standing at ease with his feet apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He wasn't all that big - around Lowlight's size, maybe a little bulkier.<p>

Nomad crept up behind him, her knees bent as she placed each foot carefully, toes first, then heels. Her right hand was clamped firmly around the hilt of her K-bar and held down beside her thigh. Her other hand was behind her back, holding her assault rifle still.

Fortunately, the ground was relatively smooth here, with no small stones to kick or slip on.

She waited until she was within a few steps away from him. He suspected nothing - it was almost too easy for Nomad to whip her arm around him, clamp her hand over his mouth and yank him backwards. He fell against her, unprepared for the attack; she slammed the knife into his carotid artery before he could recover. Blood pumped down his neck, flowing and ebbing in time with his heartbeat at first, then gradually slowing. He grew heavier and heavier, but Nomad didn't let go until he stopped moving completely.

"Clear," she muttered as she dragged the body to the side of the tunnel, out of immediate view. There was no point hauling him all the way back to the last side tunnel; they wouldn't be moving from this spot until Rock 'n' Roll, Dusty, Bazooka, Short Fuse and the greenies had caught up. According to Tunnel Rat, the mineshaft abruptly changed from rough rock to smooth grey concrete five hundred metres ahead, where there was a 'back door' for the Cobra troops and scientists to escape if the main entrance was compromised. Sure, there were probably more escape routes than just the east and west, but Duke wasn't focused on stopping all the snakes - he just wanted those missiles destroyed.

"Clear," she muttered, glancing over her shoulder as she wiped the blood from her knife.

Spirit emerged from the darkness first, appearing noiselessly out of the black like he _was_ a ghost. Scarlett came next, while Tunnel Rat - giving Nomad a thumbs up as he passed - skipped ahead to check things out so the other guys weren't going in completely blind. Scarlett was already advising Rock 'n' Roll that the way was clear.

"_Sweet. We'll be there in ten_."

* * *

><p>Nomad didn't hear Funnelweb Two when they arrived. She was keeping watch with Tunnel Rat down near the door into the missile facility, pressed against the walls behind thick support beams, barely visible. She looked back one minute to see the faint green outlines of Spirit and Scarlett back down the tunnel, facing away. The next time she glanced behind, there were nine extra figures standing there - the four Joes and the five greenshirts.<p>

"_Psst_," she hissed at Tunnel Rat, gesturing back when he turned to face her.

He looked around, then nodded. "Finally. Come on."

They headed back to join the others. When they got there, the Funnelweb team was checking their gear for the final time. Unlike the Ghosts, the Funnelweb units hadn't bothered to equip silent weapons; Rock 'n' Roll had his machine gun, Bazooka his namesake weapon. Short Fuse, of course, had his mortars - the guy was an ass, but he could calculate trajectories like Nomad had never seen - and Dusty held his assault rifle. The greenies had guns as well; Nomad didn't know any of them well enough to be able to tell them apart underneath all the gear. As he finished, Dusty helped some of them check their equipment.

Nomad started slightly as her headset crackled - Spirit, beside her, glanced down at her, and she could just picture him grinning beneath his balaclava. Duke's voice came over the radio, barely louder than a whisper. "_Funnelweb One to all units; we are in position. Report in._"

Rock 'n' Roll touched a finger to his headset. "Funnelweb Two in position," he answered.

"_Funnelweb Three in position_," Beachhead, over in the west tunnel, added in a low growl.

"_Ghost teams, be ready to provide cover fire._"

"_Ghost One, affirmative_."

"Ghost Two, affirmative," Scarlett said, as they all darted down the tunnel toward the door set into the wall of the mine.

"_Ghost Three, affirmative_."

Bazooka took his place, going down on one knee about ten metres away from the door.

"_Gas masks on,_" Duke advised."_We don't know what's gonna happen once we get in there._"

As if he needed to tell them that. Nomad removed her NVGs, secured them to her webbing, and fastened the gas mask securely over her face. They wouldn't need the night-vision gear inside the facility anyway - not even Cobra scientists could work properly in the dark, no matter how good their equipment was.

"_One minute_," Duke said.

Nomad took a deep breath. When Bazooka blew the door open, he, Rocky, Shorty, Dusty and the greenshirts would rush into the room beyond. She, Tunnel Rat, Spirit and Bazooka would hang back, providing cover fire. If they were really needed, they help to destroy the place, but Nomad didn't think they would be - most of the Joes' heavy fire power was already on the Funnelweb team.

"_Thirty seconds_."

She gripped her silenced pistols tighter. Beside her, she saw Scarlett adjusting her grip on her crossbow. While they could, they'd stick to silent weapons - if they didn't draw attention to themselves with the loud assault rifles, they could cover the others longer.

"_Twenty seconds._"

Bazooka hefted his grenade launcher onto his shoulder. "Everyone clear," he ordered.

"_Ten seconds…_"

"Good luck, guys," Scarlett said.

"_Five…four…three…two…NOW_!"

Bazooka pulled the trigger. With a burst of flame and a trail of smoke, the grenade slammed into the steel door and detonated.


	14. Chapter 14

Finally! It's taken forever to write this chapter! I was so stuck...every time I opened the stupid file, I'd end up staring at half a blank page for about half an hour. And then I'd get distracted by Plants vs Zombies, heh heh.

So this one's not a favourite chapter of mine, but it's about as good as it's gonna get. Now it's just gonna take another month or so to get the next one done. Yeah...little low on inspiration for this fic at the moment.

As always, thanks for reviews, and thanks heaps to those who email and PM me! :D Last week especially - I had a pretty crappy week last week.

* * *

><p>The tunnel filled with a blinding, roaring blast of fire. The floor shook beneath their feet. Rubble flew everywhere; fist-sized bits of rock bounced along the tunnel floor, gravel stung them as it peppered their bodies. Nomad automatically flung a hand up to cover her eyes as an opaque wall of dust surged toward her, forgetting for a moment that her gas mask covered her entire face.<p>

Luckily, due to the angle Bazooka had chosen to launch his grenade from, most of the explosion was directed away from the Joes, and the door itself blasted inward in a deadly rain of white hot shrapnel. The echo was just as loud as the explosion itself, reverberating through Nomad's body like she was standing too close to a speaker at a concert, giving her an unpleasant feeling like it wasn't just her heart that was beating, but her bones as well.

The dust hadn't even settled before the Funnelweb team rushed the new hole in the wall, weapons up and ready. There was immediately a short burst of fire from Rock 'n' Roll's machine gun, followed by an unnaturally long scream.

Scarlett whacked Nomad lightly on the arm with the back of her hand and gestured ahead. Light - hazy brown with dust still swirling in the wake of the Funnelweb unit - streamed through the hole in the wall. Nomad nodded, and she and Scarlett ran forward, treading carefully around the debris. The echoes of the explosion in their tunnel had faded; now, there was only gunfire from beyond the hole in the wall.

_BOOM_!

And, of course, Bazooka. Nomad couldn't help but grin. Good ol' Bazooka. Somewhere, no doubt, there was another new door.

Nomad crouched low, darting across the opening. She caught a glimpse of bright white from the corner of her eye before spinning and pressing her back to the rocky wall, holding her silenced handguns ready, fingers lightly on the triggers.

She glanced back over at Scarlett, who very deliberately held up three fingers - 'on three'. With her hands full and unable to give the 'okay' sign, Nomad gave her a deliberate nod instead.

Scarlett lowered her fingers one by one. As she lowered the third, she and Nomad both spun and leaped out from the cover of the wall.

Nomad lunged to the right, going down on one knee with both guns raised. Her trigger fingers tensed, but there was nobody on the metal catwalk in front of her. All the action was below; she could see a couple of greenies on the level below her through the metal grille. Three sets of horizontal bars provided a safety barrier for the catwalk. Nomad suspected that was the cause of the long scream before - somebody had fallen over the side when the Funnelweb unit had stormed the place.

Come to think of it, she'd heard a scream like that before - one of the President's Secret Service guys, Thompson, had gone over the edge of a stairwell.

Nomad dropped to her belly and wriggled over to the edge of the catwalk, peering down cautiously. "Son of a…"

It was high. _Very _high. What Nomad had first thought was a large, brightly lit room was actually an enormous cavern - the 'very un-mine-like' open space Dial Tone had mentioned in the briefing. It was brilliantly lit with fluorescent spotlights mounted to brackets on the uneven roof and walls. The catwalk she was on ran around the entire perimeter of the cavern - it was the top level, just a few metres below the rocky roof. She counted; there were seven more walkways beneath her, concentric circles of grilles and railings. Ladders linked the catwalks at varying intervals, making her think of the old _Donkey Kong_ games - she allowed herself a brief moment to picture the Cobra troops having to jump over barrels to get to the Joes…and one of the Joes grabbing the hammer power-up and continuously whacking them all over the head.

Hell, Nomad could even remember the music that went with that hammer.

But she shouldn't be thinking about that right now. She should be focusing on providing cover fire for the others. She, Scarlett, Spirit and Tunnel Rat each had a quarter of the catwalk to patrol - they were to cover the top level and the second, third and fourth levels down. The idea was that each of them would spot the quarters of catwalk directly opposite them. Ghost Three was covering the fifth, sixth and seventh levels; Ghost One took the ground level.

Rock 'n' Roll, Dusty, Short Fuse, Bazooka and the greenies were already on the level below, moving along the catwalk in quick leapfrog formation, guns - and other favoured weapons - blazing. Even further down, Nomad could hear the thundering roar of Roadblock's .50 cal.

And now, only a minute or so after the attack had been launched, the Cobras were starting to fight back. An alarm sounded - Nomad was familiar with Cobra alarms. Blue-uniformed, armed troops began to pour from doors and tunnels leading onto the catwalk, their boots pounding loudly on the grilles.

"_Get ready for 'em_," Scarlett muttered.

Nomad backed away from the edge, squatting back against the wall, her silenced guns up. Right on cue, a Cobra troop with a sniper rifle burst out onto the catwalk from a door about twenty metres away from her. He didn't even see her - he was too busy listening to his headset and trying to draw a bead on the Joes below. He didn't even glance sideways along the catwalk first.

Nomad snapped her arm around and squeezed off a shot. The only noise the gun made was a short, high-pitched '_pew_' - kind of like the noise she'd used to make when she was little, pretending to shoot imaginary bad guys with her fingers: 'pew, pew, you're dead!'.

Only this noise sounded a lot more lethal. And the Cobra troop definitely wasn't imaginary - but he definitely _was_ dead. Nomad scuttled over and pulled him away from the edge of the walkway, grabbing the sniper rifle before it slipped over the side and slid it back near the body. She took the sniper's position, kneeling beside one of the vertical supports that held the railing up.

Nomad glanced over the edge of the catwalk. "Scarlett, at your three, low." A second passed, and then the Cobra troop Nomad had seen lining up a greenie in his sights dropped like a stone.

"_Spirit_ -"

"_I see him, Tunnel Rat._"

Nomad caught sight of a blue-uniform hiding in a corridor just ahead of Bazooka. The big man was about to run straight into the snake's sight. "Bazooka, stop!" she hissed.

He skidded to a halt. Nomad took aim and blew the Cobra troop away with another silenced round. "All clear, Bazook."

"_Thanks_."

"Blow something up for me, huh?" It felt like she was standing there talking to herself - her throat mike transmitted her words without her having to press any buttons.

"_Sure._"

Nomad glanced down - all the way down, to the bottom of the cavern. It looked like the main missile production line was down there; she could see snaking black conveyor belts, benches, cubicles with abandoned office chairs, desks with computers and other high tech equipment. To the right of the cavern was what looked like…well, it looked like a bomb shelter.

Maybe the neurotoxin missiles were in there…

But then, wouldn't that be too obvious?

She took out another couple of snakes on the third level down as soon as they stepped out onto the walkway, then heard a grunt and a thud below her. She looked across the cavern to see Tunnel Rat aiming again and firing.

Rock 'n' Roll and the others were over halfway down now. As she looked over the edge of the catwalk for some Cobras to fire on, Bazooka leaned out over the railings. With a hollow _fwomp_ sound, distinctive even over the gunfire, a grenade blasted from the launcher. A trail of smoke followed as it arced down toward one of the conveyor belts.

The explosion was impressive. Hopefully the grenade had hit something important.

"_See that, Nomad_?"

"Nice, Bazooka. Do it again."

"_Okay_." He ducked back out of sight, only to appear a few seconds later a little further along. Nomad waited for the blast…but what she heard instead made her blood freeze in her veins.

"_Good morning, Joes._"

But…no. Wouldn't that mean…

Never mind what it meant. It didn't make any difference. It was probably just a recording, anyway - Cobra wasn't supposed to know the force assaulting the mine was G.I Joe. There was no way any of the snakes could've known; no identifying marks on the fatigues, body armour, or weapons.

Nomad held her guns tighter as she spotted another Cobra troop striding out onto the catwalk on the level below her, his hands -

His hands were on his head.

She frowned, confused. "Duke -"

"_What the hell're they doin'_?" Beachhead wondered, beating her to it. "_They're all droppin' their damned guns_!"

"_Hold fire_," Duke said, his voice suspicious.

"_I should think so_." The odd, hissing voice filled the cavern, replacing the wailing alarm being sounded over the PA system.

Nomad knew that voice. She'd been half-dead last time she'd heard it, but she'd know it anywhere - it was burned into her mind alongside Goldilocks and Andy. And, apparently, the man it belonged to was listening in on their radio frequency.

Damn…they should've learned from the incident with Goldilocks. Nomad didn't have to see Scarlett pointing to her earpiece and then drawing her finger across her throat to know that radio silence would be the go from now on. Nomad switched off her throat mike.

"_I've given the order for all my troops to lay down their weapons. If you fire, you'll be shooting at unarmed men and women. You wouldn't do that, would you, Duke_?"

Nomad could almost sense the first shirt's frustration through the ominous silence that now filled the cavern.

"_You may have discovered this base, Duke, but I'm _still_ one step ahead of you. My agents at Extensive Enterprises informed me as soon as they realised the phone call placed to them had been traced. I may not have had time to remove all the missiles - that _is_ what you're after, of course _-"

Nomad scowled behind her gas mask. Cobra Commander liked the sound of his own voice far too much.

"_- but no matter. You didn't think I'd have _all_ the test prototypes in the one place, did you_?"

Nomad wasn't the only one whose head snapped up in horror - across the cavern, she saw the rest of her unit do the same, glancing at each other. The thought hadn't even occurred to her: what if Cobra had more than one missile production base? They hadn't heard of anything apart from the abandoned diamond mine.

Duke's voice was admirably calm when he spoke. "_You're bluffing, Buckethead_."

"_Oh, am I?_"

Nomad jumped as a burst of static buzzed through her headset. "_What the -_" Duke started.

She leaned over the catwalk railing. Down on the ground, a several small, black-clad figures were gathering around one of the desks, apparently looking at one of the screens on it. From all the way up here, she couldn't see what was going on.

Unless…

She turned around and hooked one hand through the strap of the deceased Cobra sniper's rifle. It took her a while to sight the screen - Nomad wasn't good with sniper rifles. Lowlight had let her try his rifle once on the range, but she couldn't get her head around the scope…and her hands weren't steady enough to keep the crosshairs on target. She'd wavered all over the place, and when she'd finally squeezed the trigger, she'd hit a spot about thirty metres to the left of the target.

Of course Sci-Fi, who'd been watching, had made fun of her for the rest of the day. He had good reason to, though - the laser gunner could draw a bead on a target and hold position for so long that birds would perch on him. Damn show off.

Once she found the screen, she could only see the top right corner of it; Duke's shoulder - she supposed it was Duke, she was only going by his stance - was blocking the rest. She could, however, see the edge of Cobra Commander's shiny, featureless metal mask. That mask didn't look like much now, but in person, it was oddly creepy. Nomad couldn't suppress the shiver that ran down her spine.

"_And now, Duke, you can watch as I demonstrate the effects of my missile -_" The Commander broke off, and a scuffling sound came from the PA system. "What_, Destro_?"

There was a pause. "_Commander,_" said a second voice, recognisable by the low Scottish accent. "_Perhaps_ -"

There was a loud thump - possibly the Commander whacking his fist against whatever console he was sitting at. "_Shut up! You're ruining my big moment. Now, as I was saying…"_

Nomad started as a hand touched her shoulder. She spun around, alarmed, thinking that maybe a Cobra troop had snuck up on her, but it was only Spirit. He gestured for her to follow him - she glanced across the cavern and saw Scarlett and Tunnel Rat both standing by the hole Bazooka had blasted in the wall. She nodded, slinging the sniper rifle's strap diagonally across her chest more from habit than anything else. Oh well…Lowlight could have a new toy to play with when they got back.

Cobra Commander was still talking. "_…the missile is locked on to a village thirty miles south of your location_._ You can't stop it. In fact, you won't even leave the mine alive._"

"_Commander_ -" Destro interrupted, sounding impatient.

The Commander spoke over the top of the arms dealer. "_I've had the entire tunnel system rigged with explosives. Welcome to your tomb, G.I Joes_!"

A loud blast ripped through the cavern, shaking the walls. Several smaller explosions followed. From the corner of her eye, Nomad saw a bright flare of orange and white, but she didn't get time to look over the catwalk railing to see what had detonated - the metal walkway lurched violently beneath her feet. She lost her balance and fell flat on her back, cracking her left elbow hard as she landed. "Son of a -"

The curse was cut short as the catwalk jolted, and suddenly - breathtakingly - dropped out from beneath Nomad and Spirit.

Ironically, it was the Cobra's sniper rifle - well, and a whole lot of luck - that saved her life. The catwalk itself hadn't broken away from the wall completely - it was hanging from a few precariously bent brackets that hadn't torn loose in the many explosions that had detonated simultaneously throughout the cavern. The metal grille now lay flat against the wall. Spirit was lying sprawled across the three thin guardrails, holding on tightly with one hand. His other hand gripped the sniper rifle strap across Nomad's chest; the gun had slid around and was now hooked painfully under one arm, and that was all that was stopping her from falling. Her feet pointed directly toward the ground; beyond them, she saw her two handguns getting smaller and smaller as they fell all the way down - she half-expected to see a puff of dust when they landed.

No doubt the thought would be funny later.

Spirit grabbed her hand and hauled her up just far enough for her to grab onto the railing. She swung herself up beside him, breathing hard, her heart pounding fast enough to just about break her ribs. "Thanks," she said - or at least, she tried to say it. Only the 'th' came out. She tried again, and this time the whole word worked, although her voice was a little more high-pitched than normal.

She balanced precariously on two of the three horizontal bars, feeling like she'd climbed on top of a set of killer monkey bars. It was too late to not look down - she'd already got a bird's-eye view of the mess at the bottom of the cavern. Figures were running in all directions - whether they wore blue or black, she couldn't tell. The twisted remains of most of the catwalks lay broken where they'd landed, surrounded by rubble. The noise was disconcerting; explosions still echoed throughout the big space, gunfire, shouting…and through her headset, Joes checking in with each other, Duke barking orders, Scarlett asking if Nomad and Spirit were alright.

"This is Spirit, for Scarlett," the Native American man said. "Nomad and I are fine. Repeat, we're fine."

Nomad couldn't believe how calm he sounded. The damn guy sounded like…like he'd just walked into the rec room, or something.

The remaining brackets fastening the catwalk to the wall creaked ominously. Spirit and Nomad glanced at each other, then peered around, looking for somewhere to go.

"Tunnel," Nomad said shortly, jerking her chin toward the hole in the wall which _had_ opened onto the walkway below. She didn't trust her voice not to shake; it was a wonder she could hold onto the rails, her hands were trembling so much. She was, now more than ever, grateful for her fingerless leather gloves - without them, her slick, sweaty palms would've slipped right off the bars.

Spirit nodded, and - so very cautiously - they began to crawl toward the tunnel, pressing their hands hard to the railing and resting their knees on top. It was painful and slow - the rails wobbled alarmingly with each move they made. Sweat rolled down Nomad's sides beneath her mismatched body armour. The edges of her gasmask's faceplate actually began to fog up. Her earpiece buzzed constantly with voices, but she didn't pay any attention to them - she was too busy trying not to fall to her death for the second time in just a few days.

"_Not far now, guys_._ Just a few more feet! Keep going_!"

Nomad raised her head a little to see several black-clad, gasmasked heads leaning out of the tunnel. She couldn't tell who was who - she didn't really care at the moment - but it was Tripwire who'd spoken.

"_Swing yourself in, Spirit_."

Spirit lowered himself down to hang from the bars. The entire structure - what was left of it - swayed horribly. Nomad held her breath as the man swung himself back and forth…and then let go. Arms reached out to grab him, and then he was safe, his feet back on solid ground.

Nomad's turn.

With a deep breath, she inched forward. Hands beckoned her forward, arms were held wide ready to catch her. She positioned herself on the bars facing the tunnel - the good thing was, it was still a little below her. The further she fell, the further forward her momentum would carry her. She just had to time her release right.

Fuck, this was worse than the window. She wished she had Beachhead supporting her now - he'd be less likely to budge than the metal brackets that barely held the catwalk up.

Nomad gently eased herself off the bars, suddenly grateful for all those pull ups Beach made them do in PT. She hung still for a moment, dangling high above the floor. Then she began to kick her legs forward carefully, swinging herself forward and back.

Forward…backward.

Easy…just like on a swing set. A really, _really_ big swing set.

Forward…backward.

Forw…_now_!

Nomad released her tight grip on the bars and plunged down in an ungraceful arc, legs and arms flailing. She landed a good foot inside the tunnel, her knees giving way beneath her.

Hands grabbed her and lifted her to her feet - for a moment, she didn't think her jelly-like legs would hold, but they did. She clenched her trembling hands into fists.

"Are you okay?" Spirit asked as he, Nomad and the rest of the small group - Tripwire, Short Fuse and Quick Kick, and two greenies who, by their builds, had to be Atlas and Lockjaw - hurried along the tunnel.

She shook her head. "No, I'm _not_ freaking okay," she grumbled. "If it's not windows, it's goddamn catwalks. I think I'm starting to hate heights."

The tunnel around them filled with a rumble like thunder, only a hundred times louder. Nomad turned as, with the hideous shriek of tearing metal, the remaining brackets gave way and the catwalk just _dropped_. It clanged against the rocky cavern walls on the way down, until with a loud crash it came to a stop on the ground.

A second later, a flash of brown dropped past.

"The whole place's collapsing!" Quick Kick exclaimed.

Atlas sighed audibly. "Figures."

"Let's go!" Tripwire said, grabbing onto Nomad's arm as he almost fell over his own feet.

* * *

><p>Nomad couldn't hear the voices over her headset. The roar of the tunnels collapsing around them drowned everything out - even the sound of her blood rushing in her ears.<p>

She had no idea where they were - she was blindly following Tripwire, Quick Kick and Short Fuse as they led the way. She knew the entire world was shaking around her, though, and every now and then the roof would just break away and a pile of rock would just fall right in front of them, or right behind them. Every now and then they had to duck through a shower of rubble and dust, skidding on the debris. Tripwire slipped over, only to be picked up under the arms by Lockjaw and Short Fuse and set back on his feet.

Eventually, they slid to a stop in front of a heavy-looking steel door. Short Fuse and Spirit heaved on it, but it didn't budge.

"Here," Tripwire said, pulling something from his pack. "Get back."

Nomad and the others retreated, watching as the explosives expert quickly knelt in front of the door, suddenly focused, his hands moving quickly and surely. It always struck Nomad how Skoog could go from clumsy to intense in the blink of an eye.

He sprinted toward them and pressed himself to the shaking wall. "Fire in the hole!" he shouted over the noise, and pressed the switch in his hand.

The door blew clear across the tunnel and bounced off the opposite wall.

"Move!" Short Fuse ordered, shoving Nomad ahead of him. The group of Joes and greenies bolted for the door and dived through - just as the tunnel caved in behind them.

It was pitch black. It took Nomad a while to figure out what had happened. It was just like when she, Scarlett, Tunnel Rat and Spirit had stepped from their tunnel into the main cavern, not as long ago as it felt; they were back in the tunnels of the mine which Cobra hadn't bothered to fit with lights. The problem was, she and Spirit had no idea where _this_ tunnel went - the plan had been to retrace their steps when it was time to go.

Well, that plan had been shot to hell. Now it was time to improvise.

"Joes! Get 'em!"

"What the -" Quick Kick started.

Something thumped hard into Nomad's gut. She doubled over, the breath knocked from her lungs.

"Damn snakes!" Lockjaw shouted. "The whole place's collapsing, and they _still_ wanna take us out!"

Wheezing, Nomad stood as straight as she could, not daring to take a swing in case she hit one of her friends. She couldn't see a thing - her NVGs were still attached to her webbing. She yanked on them, and they came free, but somebody swiped at her hand and knocked them away. She lashed out, but her fist met nothing but air. Obviously, the Cobra troops _did_ have night vision goggles, and not just…

…Flashlights.

She still had the flashlight from the two Cobra troops Scarlett had taken out on the way down. She stuffed her hand into the thigh pocket of her fatigues and pulled it out. "Joes, eyes shut!"

Without waiting for affirmation, she flicked the flashlight on and swept it around the dark tunnel. There were two separate cries of pain, and in the yellow circle of light she saw two Cobra troops stumbled around. One of them ripped off his NVGs and rubbed at his eyes, crying.

Short Fuse stepped forward and smacked one snake in the face. Atlas took the other one, dropping him with an elbow to the nose.

"Airtight, this is Spirit. Can you hear me?" Spirit asked, keying his earpiece and repeating himself.

There was static for a moment. "_Spirit…is Airtight._"

"Is it safe to remove the gasmasks? Repeat, is it safe to remove gasmasks?"

"…_irmative, Spirit…safe._"

"Good. NVGs," Spirit ordered, putting his on by the light of the torch. He glanced around, then stooped and picked up Nomad's goggles. "Keep that flashlight handy."

She nodded, and once again they all began to sprint for their lives.

* * *

><p>They knew they were on the right track when they spotted a shiny metal ladder heading upwards. It had taken around thirty minutes to get to the cavern - it already felt like it was taking twice as long to get out, even though it had probably only taken ten. They were running as fast as they could, and even though they came across a couple more Cobra troops, the snakes were running just as quickly as the Joes were. It was a race to get out of the diamond mine before it buried them. It was a little easier to hear the radio now that the main explosions were over. Now they just had to deal with the aftershocks.<p>

They'd scaled two ladders already, and the tunnel was now sloping gently upward. Twice, they had to stop and wait for Tripwire to blast a pile of rock out of the way. Short Fuse could have cleared the path as well, but his mortars might have brought the whole place down on them; Tripwire was able to judge just how much C4 he'd need to get rid of the blockage safely, and usually it was just a small explosion to break up a piece of rock at the bottom of the pile.

Nomad vowed never to make fun of his primary specialty ever again.

They skidded around a curve in the tunnel, and Nomad blinked as she saw a small spot of bright light ahead. She whipped her night vision gear off, turning to Spirit and Tripwire and opening her mouth.

And then, without warning, there was a sharp crack, a loud rumble, and a wall of dust blew over them. Nomad copped it straight in the eyes.

Spirit and Tripwire - who hadn't yet taken off their goggles and could still see - hurried back around the corner. Nomad, blinking dusty tears, joined them when she could see.

The tunnel had collapsed behind them…burying Short Fuse, Quick Kick, Lockjaw and Atlas.

"Short Fuse! Can you hear me?" Tripwire asked loudly, both over the radio and trying to shout through the rockfall. "Quick Kick!"

"Atlas!" Spirit joined in. "Lockjaw!"

It felt like a long time before they heard anything.

"_Ouch…we're okay, guys_," Quick Kick answered slowly. "_Well…mostly. Look's like Short Fuse's busted a leg and his glasses, and Atlas is uncon - ah, dammit…_"

Nomad's heart dropped.

"_Atlas is dead_," Quick Kick said flatly.

Spirit, Tripwire and Nomad began to clear the smaller rocks away. After a minute or so, they'd cleared a gap near the top that was just big enough for the guys to crawl through.

Lockjaw scrambled out first, breathing hard. Short Fuse came next, wincing in pain as his broken leg brushed against the rock. Nomad slid under his arm and helped him to hop aside. He grunted his thanks; she gave him a curt nod, and nothing else was said as they stood back out of the way.

Tripwire shimmied through the gap. Spirit and Lockjaw waited until Atlas' body lolled horribly into view, lifted by Quick Kick and the explosives expert, and pulled him out. It looked horrible - they just yanked him through - but there was no time for being reverent just now.

Still…no Joe was left behind.

Quick Kick came next, wobbling a little on his feet, and then Tripwire re-emerged. As a group, they all hurried toward the spot of light.

* * *

><p>The sun was up when they rushed out of the tunnel. Nomad checked her watch - it was still only early morning, and yet it was already hot and dry.<p>

They didn't stop until they were about half a mile from the mine exit - it was nothing more than a rabbit hole. Nomad was too tired to be surprised; she figured it was just another emergency exit.

Squinting against the light, she glanced around. In the distance, she was almost sure she could see the east entrance - but it was hard to tell. The landscape which had been wide and flat when they'd entered the mine was now pitted and scarred, the mine almost completely caved in. It was incredible - the criss-crossing lines leading to the massive crater which had once been the cavern looked like trenches dug by a massive army.

They stopped by a scrubby, twisted tree, about as tall as Nomad was. It offered shade, but not much. Nomad gratefully pulled her balaclava off and wiped her face with her sleeve - the others did the same. In other circumstances, seeing them with the black smudged all across their faces might've been amusing.

"Ow," Short Fuse complained half-heartedly as she lowered him to the ground beneath the tree.

"Suck it up," she answered vaguely, rolling her shoulders.

Short Fuse snorted.

"Same to you."

Tripwire was seeing to Quick Kick, who had a trickle of blood dribbling from his hairline. The former stuntman looked like he'd rather bleed than have Skoog prodding at his head. Lockjaw sat dejectedly by Atlas' body. Nomad could see the damage straight away; the entire left side of poor, gloomy Atlas' skull had been bashed in, just behind the ear.

She looked away. She'd never spoken much to Atlas; they hadn't been friends. But he and Lockjaw had, and seeing the normally talkative man just sitting like that, silent, brought back familiar feelings - both from a year ago and also from when Jeckle's best friend, Heckle, had been killed on her first mission as a Joe.

Nomad thought about giving him a pat on the shoulder, but thought better of it. Instead, she unslung her assault rifle and stood watch while Spirit radioed their situation and position to the others. Here, out in the open, she could hear the voices on her radio easily. The backup unit were on their way to pick up the scattered Joes; Wild Bill was en route - he was going to land the big C-130 in plain sight, near the ghost town. It was too late to bother with secrecy now.

There were three more casualties; greenies who'd been caught in one of the explosions. All other injuries were minor - Bazooka had taken a knock to the head and apparently couldn't remember anything after blowing up the door to the top catwalk; Stalker, Outback, and a few others had burns from the explosions. Flint had a nasty gash across one shoulder blade.

For once, Nomad had come out relatively unscathed, save for a few bruises and a new dislike for heights.

She didn't hear anything about Lowlight. Somebody would've said if he was hurt, or…or…

But nobody had said anything, so he must be fine. Right?

Five minutes later, she saw the big Hercules transport plane fly low overhead, circle and head back in the direction of the ghost town. Not long after that, one of the VAMPs skidded to a stop by their scraggly tree.

Lifeline, Jeckle and Covergirl leaped out; Lifeline immediately knelt by Short Fuse, his black case open by his side. Nomad noticed that Jeckle took one look at Lockjaw and sat beside him while Spirit and Tripwire loaded Atlas' body into the back of the Jeep.

Covergirl swore and shook her head, coming up to stand next to Nomad. "And the missile was launched, anyway," she muttered. "The crazy fucker."

"Well, at least the rest of the missiles were destroyed," Lifeline said over his shoulder. "Airtight said the missiles would've had a built in mechanism to release the catalyst for the toxins. If the missiles weren't armed, the catalyst wouldn't have been released, and the heat from the explosions would've neutralised the chemicals."

Nomad gave him a look. "How certain is he?"

Lifeline finished tying a makeshift splint around Short Fuse's leg, then turned to check Quick Kick's head. "Airtight's a joker, but he knows what he's talking about."

"Yeah," Quick Kick added optimistically, wincing as Lifeline doused the cut with antiseptic and stuck some suture tape onto it to hold it closed. "We didn't have our masks on, and we're not dead yet."

The medic rolled his eyes and snapped his kit shut. "Done. Everybody in the VAMP."

Jeckle bounced to her feet, dragging Lockjaw with her. "Hey, can I drive?"

"_No_!" Covergirl and Lifeline said loudly, glancing at each other.

"See?" the short Joe said, nudging the greenshirt. "I ram _one _little Cobra Stun, and I'm banned from driving. I mean…I was only doing what Leatherneck said and getting rid of them. It worked, and I didn't even dent the VAMP. Much. _Clutch_ said it was cool…"

Lockjaw stared at her, then cracked a small grin. Nomad couldn't help herself either - she shook her head and laughed quietly.

"_I'll_ drive," Covergirl said, jumping behind the wheel. Nomad jumped onto the side, holding tightly to the rollbar. Lifeline hopped in back beside the two wounded Joes and Lockjaw, while Tripwire took shotgun. Spirit stood on the side opposite Nomad. Jeckle gleefully perched herself on the hood. When all the Joes were secure, Covergirl floored the accelerator, and, with a trail of dust kicking up behind them, they headed for the ghost town.

* * *

><p>The big C-130 was parked just outside the tall, unfriendly-looking wire fence that surrounded the town. The Joes milled around at the bottom of the plane's lowered cargo ramp, looking for all the world like they were at a family barbeque - except for the fact that each one of them was filthy, their clothes covered in dust and their faces streaked with black warpaint. At the top of the ramp Doc had set up a makeshift infirmary; at the moment, Flint was sitting on an upturned bucket with his shirt off. The doctor stood behind him - Nomad winced when she realised Doc was stitching Flint up.<p>

The warrant officer wasn't even making a sound. Just another reason his codename suited him so well.

Covergirl brought the VAMP to a stop at the bottom of the ramp so Short Fuse and Quick Kick could get out and wait to be looked over. Lifeline jumped out, hurried into the cargo hold and returned a few seconds later, discretely carrying a black bag. Nomad looked away, only to see another three bags lined up on the ground beside the ramp. She heard the bag crinkle as Spirit helped the medic ease Atlas into it - this time, Atlas was moved with as much respect as possible.

"Alright, everyone listen up!"

Nomad, still holding onto the VAMP's rollbar, glanced over the top of the Joes' heads to see Duke standing and gazing around at them all, his hands on his hips.

"Okay, so this mission didn't exactly go to plan," the first shirt started. "Cobra Commander was able to launch the prototype missile. But _we_ forced his hand and he had to destroy his own facility, including whatever missiles he had left in there. It's not a win - not exactly - but it's better than nothing."

Nomad looked around as she felt a familiar presence behind her. Lowlight pulled her off the sidestep of the VAMP and into a brief but blissfully tight hug, then turned her back around so she could see Duke.

"As you all heard, the missile hit a village thirty miles south of here. We've got to check it out. I'm sure you all know it'll require going into a hot zone. Airtight?"

The man in the yellow and green suit stepped forward, his helmet tucked underneath his arm. "The air around the village will be contaminated by the neurotoxin. I can't be sure how far the toxin has spread - it might be localised, or it might be spreading as we speak. Whoever goes in will have to suit up, and once we get home, you'll have to go through full decontamination procedures, which includes observation for forty-eight hours."

Duke gave everyone a wry grin. "So, who wants in?"

There was no question about it; Nomad had to see this through. She started to raise her hand.

"Shezz…" Lowlight objected, grabbing her wrist.

She shook him off and lifted her hand over her head. "This all started on Cobra Island, Lowlight - I have to finish it."

He looked like he wanted to say something, then shook his head. "Stay safe."

"I promise."

Duke was already picking the team. "Okay. Beachhead, Doc, Breaker, Scarlett, Covergirl and Nomad, go get suited up. We leave in five minutes."


	15. Chapter 15

Argh...this chapter annoyed the hell out of me! I got so stuck on this one. It's not very good - I just got sick of it and thought, "Screw it, this'll do."

At the moment, that's pretty much how this whole fic is going. I think it might be time to start wrapping it up...I'm having so much trouble coming up with ideas for it. There's still some stuff I have to put in, but yeah...not going well :'(

Anyways, thanks for reviews, emails and PMs. Sigh...the way I'm going, next update will be in like, two months :(

By the way, I made most of this stuff up as I went - I have no idea about decontamination procedures or anything, so...yeah.

* * *

><p>"This is <em>not<em> a good look," Covergirl complained, stepping into the dull, olive green CBRN suit and tugging it up over her hips.

"Well, it's either this or die a horrible death," Scarlett answered, pulling a set of large overboots on over the top of her combat boots and securing them tightly. "I know which one _I'd_ prefer. And just think - at least it's not bright yellow and green."

Covergirl faked a shudder, then grinned.

"I heard that," Airtight said distractedly as he watched Doc and Duke stride down the loading ramp, already suited up. Beachhead followed, looking even more oversized than usual - and somewhat awkward - in his own CBRN suit.

"I know," Scarlett retorted, winking at him mischievously. "But I don't see why you couldn't just wear a normal suit like the rest of us."

"My suit has been made to _my_ exact specifications," he said matter-of-factly. He handed Nomad her gear. He must've seen something in her face - maybe just a _little_ bit of doubt - because he added reassuringly, "Not that these suits are substandard in any way, of course."

"Oh, yeah. That makes me feel better," she muttered. Beside her, Breaker snorted.

Covergirl chuckled. "Or you just wanna stand out from the crowd," she said, flourishing her hands and posing while pouting expertly at the hostile environments man. He grabbed her gasmask and pulled it down over her face with a smirk.

Nomad turned her attention to the suit in her hands. When Airtight had mentioned suiting up, she'd immediately thought of a big, bulky, brightly-coloured Hazmat suit. Instead, what she'd been given was a rubber suit with a gasmask attached to it. They were called CBRN suits. Designed for use in combat situations, they were less chunky than the civilian Hazmat suits, and they had a filter system which allowed air and sweat to pass through, even if it _was_ only slowly. If it was necessary, these suits could protect the Joes for several days from chemical, biological, radiological and nuclear hazards - hence CBRN.

But she wasn't going to think about that. That was just inviting trouble.

Nomad had never had to put on a CBRN suit before - or a normal Hazmat suit, for that matter. It wasn't comfortable; the suit just went on over the top of her fatigues. It was hot, heavier than anything she was used to wearing. She was glad they hadn't had to wear these in the mine.

"Nomad. Hurry it up," Duke ordered tersely, striding past her. "Two minutes."

She bent to pull on her overboots, strapping them up tightly over the legs of her suit. The gloves followed - Covergirl helped her to secure the second one as they strode down the ramp of the C-130 to join the others. She slung her assault rifle over her shoulder; she'd given the Cobra sniper rifle to Lowlight before heading into the plane to suit up.

Duke and the team were waiting by two of the VAMPs. Scarlett, Beachhead, Breaker and Doc were already seated in the first jeep; Duke and Airtight were discussing something over the hood of the second. Lifeline, Snake Eyes, Storm Shadow, Roadblock, Rock 'n' Roll and Dusty were bustling around a collection of crates that they'd unloaded from the plane; they seemed to be putting up some kind of…well, it _looked_ like a tent. As she watched, Jeckle joined the group; Nomad grinned at the wary look on Lifeline's face as Jeckle enthusiastically brandished a mallet and tent pegs.

"It's for decontamination," Covergirl explained, pulling a face. "We'll have to shower in there when we get back. The water pressure's usually awesome, though."

Nomad stared at the unpitched tent, the seriousness of what they were about to do suddenly hitting her. What if she had a tiny rip in her suit? What if she hadn't fastened it properly?

Well, those were pretty stupid thoughts, actually; Airtight had checked each of the suits personally before handing them out, and he was going to make sure she'd done it up properly before they left, just like he'd done with everyone else's.

Still, Nomad suddenly wished - but only for a moment - that she'd listened to Lowlight, and not volunteered. Going into combat against armed soldiers was one thing. She could _shoot _at them, at least. What was she supposed to do against something she couldn't even _see_?

She shifted her gun from one shoulder to the other. Fat load of good _it_ was going to be…but there was no way she was leaving it behind. None of them had any idea what was waiting for them at the village - hell, things might've gone _Resident Evil _on them, for all Nomad knew.

"Covergirl! Nomad!" Duke waved them over impatiently.

They joined him by the VAMP. A map was spread open on the hood - there was a large red circle drawn on it, apparently in the middle of nowhere.

Airtight grabbed Nomad's shoulders and turned her to face him, then quickly inspected her suit, double-checking the zips and the Velcro fastenings over the top and tugging on the straps. He tightened her overboots a little, then nodded and gave her a thumbs up.

"Are we set to go?" Duke asked, folding up the map as he strode around to the driver's seat. He stuffed the map into a side pocket in the door.

"All suits checked out, top," Airtight affirmed. "I suggest we all wear our masks; I can't be sure how far the toxin's spread."

Duke glanced around at the team. "You heard the man. Masks on."

Nomad pulled her gasmask on reluctantly. It had been bad enough having the night-vision gear and the masks on in the tunnels - these gasmasks were attached to hoods on the CBRN suits themselves, and while they were designed for combat, peripheral vision still took a hit. Nomad didn't like not being able to see out of the corners of her eyes.

She climbed into the back of the VAMP, feeling incredibly clumsy in her suit. She'd already decided she didn't like it - and it wasn't just the gasmask that put her off. She felt like she couldn't move properly, and she was beginning to feel a little stifled.

No, not stifled. That wasn't a strong enough word for it. Maybe Tunnel Rat was right - maybe she _did_ suffer from claustrophobia.

Covergirl, taking a seat beside her, must've noticed something in her eyes. She gave Nomad a robust slap on the shoulder. "Relax. Airtight knows what he's talking about," she assured her.

"That's not what I'm worried about," Nomad said, a little too quickly to be believable.

The former model turned to peer directly into the eyeholes of Nomad's mask. Nomad avoided any further questions by looking back toward the C-130. Lowlight was back there; she went to wave, then thought better of it. The hug before had been enough, she didn't want him to think she was getting _too_ emotional.

Duke slid behind the steering wheel. Nomad grinned to herself at the wistful look on Clutch's face - speeding across the open African landscape, pushing the jeep as fast as it could go, would've been a dream for the lead-footed mechanic.

"Alright," Duke said. "Spirit, you're in charge. We'll call in every half hour."

Spirit, on his way to help put up the decontamination tent, nodded. "We'll have everything ready for you when you get back, Duke."

Airtight finished loading his gear in beside Covergirl and Nomad and took his place beside Duke. "Alright, I think that's everything."

"You think?" Duke asked. Although Nomad could only see the back of his hooded suit, she could just imagine him raising an eyebrow.

"Yep," Airtight answered obliviously. "Now, if my calculations are correct, the toxins should…"

Nomad stopped listening. She wouldn't understand half of what he was saying anyway.

Duke gunned the VAMP's engine, and with twin clouds of dust rising behind them, the two jeeps sped toward the hot zone.

* * *

><p>Nomad wasn't sure who she preferred driving with - Clutch, or Duke. Clutch drove like a maniac, no doubt - but he seemed to be able to spot (and dodge) bumps that nobody else could see. Duke just drove straight over them…but he didn't drive as fast as Clutch did.<p>

Nomad leaned forward and tapped Airtight on the shoulder. "So…what are we gonna see when we get there?" she wondered.

He shrugged. "I couldn't tell you, Nomad, sorry. Not until I can take some readings. But it probably won't be pretty."

"I figured that," she said darkly, sitting back. "Neurotoxin affects nerves, right?"

"True," Airtight said slowly, "but there _are_ a lot of variables. The toxin could cause paralysis, it could erode the entire nervous system…it depends on the chemical components." He sighed. "Biological warfare isn't pretty. I've seen some poisons designed specifically to cause as much agony as possible before death. Once, I saw a guy literally eaten away from inside -"

Nomad groaned, sorry she'd said anything.

It was Covergirl's turn to reach forward and slap Airtight's shoulder. "Do we really need to hear this right _now_?" she asked."Ah…probably not," he agreed.

They lapsed into silence again. Nomad wondered if the others were thinking the same thing as she was: what the hell were they going to find when they got to the village? Airtight probably had the best idea out of the lot of them…maybe Doc had seen something like this before, too.

Hell, Doc had probably seen a lot. He never seemed to be surprised with any injuries the Joes limped into the infirmary with.

Nomad glanced behind at the second VAMP. Scarlett was driving, with the doctor beside her. Breaker and Beachhead sat in the back. Or Breaker sat, at least - Beachhead was standing up in his seat, gripping the sidebars tightly.

"Duke!"

Nomad slapped her hand against the back of Duke's seat as he abruptly slammed on the brakes and the jeep fishtailed to a stop. Airtight leaped out before the dust had even settled.

"What the -" Covergirl started.

Nomad frowned as Airtight knelt a few metres from the jeep's front tyres and picked something up. "What's he got?" she asked quietly. Covergirl shrugged.

Airtight returned, turning the small, brown object over in his hands. It looked like -

"Is that a dead bird?" Duke asked.

"Yes," Airtight answered matter-of-factly. He rummaged around in his gear for a moment, bagged the bird and tossed it into the back seat between Nomad and Covergirl. The former model made a noise that sounded half-irritated, half-annoyed, and chucked the plastic bag back at him. "Actually…" He turned and gestured ahead of the two jeeps. "It's more than one."

Nomad looked past Airtight for the first time since they'd stopped. Behind her gasmask, her mouth fell open. "What the hell -?"

Directly ahead, carpeting the ground, was a whole flock of tiny brown birds. There must have been _hundreds_ of them.

And they were all dead.

Duke stood up, leaning forward over the jeep's windscreen. "Well…" he said quietly, "I think we know how far the toxin's spread. Stay sharp everyone. We could be walking straight into a trap, but we've got to check out that village - just in case."

Nomad glanced doubtfully at the birds, surreptitiously pressing her gasmask a little more firmly onto her face. Not sneakily enough - Airtight noticed and rolled his eyes as he hopped back into the jeep.

Still…better safe than sorry. From the looks of things, they weren't going to find any survivors at that village.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes after skirting around the flock of dead birds, the village appeared.<p>

It _was_ only a small village; there were only about twenty mud-walled huts in all. It wasn't even big enough to rate a dot on the map - Nomad had checked on the way.

They parked the VAMPs about a mile away. "Let's get this over with," Duke said darkly. "Split up and search for survivors. Don't touch anything if you can help it; Doc and Airtight, get your samples, or whatever you need, and if we don't find anything else we're out of here."

"What about the bodies, Duke?" Breaker asked. It was a little bit weird, hearing him speak without the intermittent pop of a gum bubble. "We can't just leave 'em, not if they're…infected, or something."

Duke turned to gaze at the village. "We burn them," he said flatly.

Nomad kept her face blank. She wouldn't question Duke - she knew it was the only thing they could really do. It wasn't like they could call in the local police or military without having to explain things that were better left unexplained…but she still hated the idea. She didn't want to do it; it made her feel a little sick.

Maybe that was why Lowlight had tried to stop her - he thought things through better than she did.

Or had he thought she wouldn't be able to handle it?

Either way, it was too late now. She'd put her hand up and she had to follow through. It wasn't as if she was the only one who didn't want to do it - there were grim expressions all around. None of them had signed up to clean up Cobra's dirty work.

They covered the distance between the jeeps and the village at a run, leapfrogging each other with their guns up. If it _was_ a trap, there could be Cobra troops hidden amongst the huts, suited up just like the Joes were.

They approached from the east. From her position, Nomad could see the smouldering remains of the missile, fused into a twisted mess about three hundred metres to the south. Spot fires still burned here and there, but - first lucky break the Joes had had all day - they were only small. Around the village outskirts, several skinny goats lay dead, still tethered to poles sticking out of the dry ground. Dead chickens dotted the area.

The group slowed to a walk as they reached the first couple of huts. There was no order in the way they'd been built - it looked liked they'd just popped up randomly out of the ground like mushrooms. They stuck close to the walls, creeping around the corner.

"Son of a -"

If Doc hadn't reached out and grabbed the back of his suit, Breaker would've tripped over the body of the woman lying half-in, half-out the doorway of the hut. The communications man lengthened his stride hurriedly, stepping over the body without disturbing it.

Nomad - standing beside Doc - glanced down at the body lying facedown in the dirt. She opened her mouth to say something.

"Fuck me," Duke said, beating her to it - no doubt unintentionally. His voice sounded almost robotic through his gasmask - it sounded even stranger because the first shirt, even though he was a hardass, rarely swore.

Well…rarely swore _badly_, at least.

Nomad turned to look up at him - his eyes were fixed not on the corpse at Breaker's feet, but on the rest of the village.

She followed his gaze. The village _looked_ untouched. All the huts still stood. Laundry hung on ropes stretched between some of them. If it weren't for the eerie stillness, it could've been just another ordinary day.

The eerie stillness…and the bodies.

They were everywhere; sprawled across the dirt paths crisscrossing between the huts, slumped against walls. Men, women, children, several mangy-looking dogs, more chickens - nobody had been spared by the neurotoxin.

"Nomad, Covergirl, search those huts over there," Duke ordered, jerking his head in the direction of a cluster of five dwellings to the left. The two women nodded, hurrying off as the first shirt continued to split the other Joes up and send them to clear the other huts.

"Well, this isn't creepy at all," the former model muttered as they walked over.

Nomad agreed, peering around. There were no birds, aside from the dead chickens…hell, there weren't even any flies. The only movement she could see was the smoke wafting up from the spot fires - and even they were burning themselves out, with no wind to fan them and the grass cropped too short by the livestock to provide much fuel.

Covergirl went in first, using the barrel of her gun to push aside the ragged flap of material which served as a door. Nomad followed a moment later, her heart pounding, not knowing what to expect.

There were no bodies. Blankets were piled up against the wall - Nomad guessed they'd be spread out across the uneven dirt floor at night. Apart from that, the only things in the one room were some simple toys - simple, but obviously well-loved - and some eating utensils stacked up on a rickety handmade table.

"Can you imagine living like this?" Covergirl wondered quietly.

Nomad briefly thought about reminding Covergirl where she'd been stuck for ten months, then thought better of it. The dense, permanently damp Amazon rainforest was completely different to this dry, arid land - she didn't think it was fair to compare the two.

The second and third huts were empty as well, but when Covergirl followed Nomad into the fourth, she made a noise somewhere between sadness and horror. Huddled together by the wall, underneath a roughly cut out window in the cracked mud-and-thatch wall, were the bodies of a man and a woman. Both were old; deep wrinkles mapped their faces, their hair was iron grey. He had his arms around her, one hand holding her head to his chest.

They could've been asleep - except that trailing from their mouths, down the front of their faded clothes and puddled in their laps was a thick, globby black muck. Their eyes were bloodshot - the man had blood trickling from his ears.

"What the hell _is_ that?" Covergirl asked.

Nomad shook her head, glancing over the bodies and out the window. From here, she could see the still-smoking missile. The old couple had probably heard it explode, gone to the window to look, and been so frightened they'd just dropped to the floor and held each other.

It sent a wave of anger through Nomad. She didn't know these people - a couple of hours ago she hadn't even known this little village even existed - but Cobra Commander had completely wiped them out, just to prove a point. The fucking psycho had killed them all, just to see if his goddamn missile worked, just to show the Joes he'd got one up on them.

"Let's check the next one," she said darkly, turning her back on the bodies.

It seemed like when the missile had hit, most of the villagers had had time to rush outside to see what was going on - the majority of the bodies were closer to the south side of the village, or it looked like they'd been heading over in that direction. Only a few other huts had bodies in them - either children or elderly people. On closer inspection, all of the bodies had the black gunk puddled beneath them or dribbled down their fronts.

Covergirl went to find Duke and report their findings. Nomad, holding her assault rifle more for comfort - ironically - than for anything else, wandered over to Doc as he knelt by one of the corpses in the centre of the village, taking a sample of the black stuff. The body was lying on its back; the globby black gunk had pooled in the young man's mouth and dribbled down the sides of his face.

When Doc glanced up at her, she almost took a step back; his eyes were hard and angry. "Find anything?" he asked.

"No. Just more of that," she said, gesturing to the body. She hesitated for a moment, watching as Doc went back to his studies. Eventually, her curiosity got the better of her; she had to ask, even though she was pretty damn sure she wouldn't like the answer. "Uh…what _is_ that stuff?"

He turned back to her. "From what I can tell, this man's internal organs have been…liquefied."

His tone struck her first. She never heard Doc sound so…deadly. It took a few more seconds for the actual words to sink in. "Wait…you mean -"

The doctor prodded the body's stomach - it gave way a little too easily beneath his fingers. Nomad could've sworn she heard a horrible squishing noise…and then Doc's fingers broke through the skin, and the black stuff flowed out over his fingers. Unlike the stuff on the other bodies, it wasn't gunky and congealed - it was thin and almost watery.

"Oh, god…" Nomad said. She tried to say something else, but couldn't think of anything - she'd never seen anything like this. Dead bodies, yes, and she was fine with them, but this? This was just…she didn't even know what this was.

Doc nodded, scowling behind his gasmask. "Biological warfare always seems to make death as agonising as possible. These people died needlessly excruciating deaths; it wasn't instantaneous. I'll bet next month's pay that these people were paralysed first before they vomited up their own dissolved insides -"

Nomad couldn't hold back the involuntary '_urk_' that rose from her throat.

Doc heard it. "I'm sorry, Nomad," he said quickly, reaching up and turning her away from the body - not that it did much, because there were more just metres away. Forgetting she had the gasmask on, Nomad went to raise a hand to her mouth.

"You're not gonna be sick, are you?" Doc asked in concern. "It's not like you can just run off behind a bush and take your mask off, you know."

Nomad closed her eyes for a moment. "No…no, I think I'm good. Yeah, I'm good."

"You sure?"

She opened her eyes and nodded slowly, clearing her throat. "I'm okay," she continued, trying to sound casual and failing. She braved a closer look at the body. "So, what…it's kinda like a lethal injection? Paralyses you first, then…does the rest?"

Doc nodded. "That's what I'm guessing, but I can't be sure until Airtight and I can get back to the Pit and analyse our samples."

They both turned as the others rejoined them. "Whole place is dead, Duke," Beachhead said. His normally loud voice was oddly hushed - but when Nomad thought about it, _she'd_ been talking in a quiet voice ever since they got to the village, as well. So had the rest of them; it seemed like none of them wanted to break the creepy silence.

"Yeah. Literally," Duke agreed. He looked at Doc and Airtight. "No survivors, no Cobras. There's nothing the rest of us can do here. Are you two almost done?"

"I am," Airtight said. "I have all the samples I need."

Doc stood, nodding again. "I'm done here, too.

"Then it's time to go," Duke said grimly.

* * *

><p>Nomad looked over her shoulder at the thick black smoke billowing from the contaminated village. It had stunk - not even the gasmasks had filtered out the awful stench of burning flesh completely. She'd never smelled anything quite like it before. Sure, she'd smelled burnt hair - largely thanks to her lack of skill in the kitchen and her love of candles when she was younger. She'd smelled dead things in the Amazon<p>

But burning flesh?

She never wanted to smell anything like it again.

Nomad couldn't wait to get her gasmask and CBRN suit off. She was sweaty and grimy and she was sure smelled as bad as Beachhead; she'd be _happy_ when she could shower in the portable decontamination tent that'd been stowed in the C-130.

She wanted to get back to the Pit. She was tired; the adrenalin high from the mine escape had worn off long ago and - apart from the brief spike when she and Covergirl had walked into that first hut - she'd crashed hard. Hopefully, in her forty-eight hours of observation, she could sleep. She still had half a bottle of sleeping pills from the last prescription Lifeline had filled; maybe she should take some when she got home. Just in case.

When they got back to the ghost town, the C-130 looked toy plane in the distance, having pulled away to a safe distance and taking the other Joes with it. The long, rectangular decontamination tent - _tents_, Nomad saw, there were now two of them set up - stood in the middle of the town, hoses connecting them to the water tanks the Cobra troops had set up when they took up residence. Only Lifeline remained, looking a little comical in his own CBRN suit.

"Ladies," he said, gesturing to the second tent as Nomad, Covergirl and Scarlett approached, "you know the drill."

The two other women nodded. "I don't," Nomad admitted.

The medic nodded. "Right. Sorry, Nomad. You'll go in one at a time, a quick blast'll clear your suit. Dress down and move to the next chamber, shower, and there'll be clean clothes waiting for you at the clean exit."

Scarlett nudged her forward. "You can go first."

She hesitated, glancing sideways at Lifeline. "I can't do it wrong, somehow, can I?"

He shook his head. "No," he said reassuringly. "Just get in and let the shower do its work."

Nomad gave him a doubtful look. "You _sure_? Because knowing me -"

Covergirl and Scarlett grabbed her arms and shoved her toward the tent entrance.

"Alright, alright!"

* * *

><p>Covergirl had been right: the water pressure in the decontamination tent was awesome. Even better: it was hot. Nomad scrubbed herself down gratefully, wiping off the black warpaint that'd streaked down her face, rinsing off the gritty dust from the mine that had somehow managed to get <em>everywhere.<em> The brush she had to scrub herself with was coarse - it felt like she was washing herself with a broom - and left her skin red, but she could live with that. At least she was clean, and she felt better now. She might even try to grab a nap on the trip home.

Nomad headed into the last chamber, where a towel and clean clothes - undies, a t-shirt, and fatigues, socks and boots.

She unzipped the exit and stepped out, gave Lifeline a thumbs up when he looked over at her, and wandered over to join Breaker by one of the Cobra vehicles left by the ghost town's big wire fence. He was lying on the hood, stretched out comfortably with his shirt over his eyes.

She jabbed him in the ribs. "You'll get sunburned," she warned.

"Right now, a little sunburn's the least of my worries," he answered, lifting his head and giving her a look.

Nomad thought about it. "Point made," she conceded, getting into the front seat and resting her feet up on the dashboard. The sun was hot, even though it was still only mid-morning, and she decided that maybe Breaker had the right idea.

Anyway, Scarlett, Covergirl and the other guys still had to shower - and what else did she have to do?

* * *

><p>Once everyone else was decontaminated to Airtight and Lifeline's satisfaction, the tents were cleaned, taken down and repacked into their storage crates. The two VAMP jeeps had already been hosed down with high-pressure hoses and scrubbed spotless; Nomad and Breaker had escaped that chore by being the first to shower.<p>

"Well, _I'm_ ready to go home," Scarlett said, sliding into the passenger seat of one of the VAMPs.

"Uh huh," Nomad agreed, looking around as Covergirl, Breaker and Doc squeezed into the back seat. She glanced over at the other VAMP - it was already loaded. Beachhead was driving the Cobra jeep.

"Looks like you've got the wheel, Nomad," Covergirl said, grinning.

With a half-hearted roll of her eyes, Nomad climbed into the driver's seat. "Just so you know, I haven't driven anything in almost two years."

Scarlett stared. "Are you serious?"

"Uh huh. I'd hold tight if I was you." Nomad turned the key. The VAMP roared to life and she eased down on the accelerator, following Duke's jeep as they sped away toward the waiting C-130.

* * *

><p>"Keep going…keep going…that's it, park 'er right there."<p>

Nomad parked the VAMP and switched the engine off, hopping out as Clutch and Leatherneck clamped the vehicle safely into place in the C-130's cargo hold.

It'd only been a short drive from the ghost town to the plane - only a few miles - but Nomad had enjoyed it. There was something about speeding across open land, without having to worry about other traffic or road rules, that was just plain fun. It was no wonder Clutch liked driving so much - off-road _or_ on.

It had taken Nomad half the drive to finally get the others to believe she didn't own a car - and that she didn't even have a civilian driver's licence. She _did_ have a military licence, but when she'd been with her old team, Hotshot had always done the driving. After the Amazon - and when she'd resigned from G.I Joe - she'd taken to walking everywhere she could. Even now she didn't know why - Psyche Out might've been able to figure it out, if she'd been that desperate to know….which she wasn't. In the city, it was often quicker to walk than it was to drive.

She didn't take a seat until the loading ramp closed and the big transport plane was in the air and Duke strode up to start the debrief. He kept it short and sweet - thank god - told them all they'd done a good job, then sat by the wall near Stalker, Flint and the other wounded Joes.

Nomad turned, averting her eyes from the four long, black bags resting in a corner on their own, and glanced around the hold. Leatherneck and Spirit were standing guard over the captured Cobra troops from the ghost town - Nomad would get a shift later on…knowing her luck, it'd probably be just as she was falling asleep. Scarlett and Snake Eyes were already deep in conversation, secluded away in a little corner of their own. Lady Jaye was checking out the wound on Flint shoulder; it looked like he was trying to convince her it wasn't bad. Covergirl was cuddling up to Beachhead, ignoring his protests - the big Ranger looked extremely uncomfortable with the public display of affection. He caught Nomad watching and shot her a glare, as if daring her to laugh at the expression on his face. She obliged, chuckling, then rolled her eyes and turned away.

"So they let _you_ drive, and not me," Jeckle said, bouncing up beside Nomad from apparently out of nowhere.. "And youhaven't driven for two years? That's just not fair, you know."

"How's Lockjaw?" Nomad asked quietly.

Jeckle's grin faded slightly as she turned to look toward the VAMPs. The greenshirt sat in one of them, on his own, his head bowed. "I think he's gonna be okay," she said. For the first time Nomad could remember, her voice was laced with uncertainty. "You know what it's like."

Nomad nodded. "Yeah…"

The two woman stopped talking as Bazooka ambled past, one hand pressed to his forehead, the other clutching a parachute. Nomad bit back her giggles - she shouldn't have found it funny, but the big man still looked a little dopey from his concussion.

"Hey, big guy!" Jeckle said; from the expression on Bazooka's face, too loudly. "Remember anything yet?"

He shook his head as he eased himself to the floor and sprawled out, cushioning his head with the 'chute. "Nope. Head hurts, though."

"Aww." Jeckle threw herself on the floor beside him and wrapped her arms around him. Nomad had to laugh at the alarmed look on Bazooka's face.

The exuberant woman glanced up and grinned. "Sorry, Bazooka," she said, getting comfortable and using his stomach as a pillow, making him blush. "You're just so cuddly."

Bazooka groaned. "Shipwreck's gonna get mad."

"Shipwreck gets mad and he won't get any of _this_ awesome ass for a month."

Bazooka groaned again.

Nomad headed up front, wanting to find somewhere quiet to sit - and maybe snooze a little on the way home. Storm Shadow - sitting in full view of the nervous Cobra troops, who looked more afraid of him than they did of Leatherneck and Spirit - glanced up from cleaning his multitude of shiny, pointy weapons as she passed; he nodded slightly to the opposite side of the plane.

Nomad cautiously stepped past the ninja and headed over to the netting piled up by the wall. Usually used to secure gear, today it was conveniently loose; it'd make a nice enough mattress. A little scratchy, maybe, but Nomad had slept on worse.

Lowlight had already claimed a spot nestled against the wall. He grinned up at Nomad as she raised an eyebrow at him. "Looking for someone?"

"No, not particularly," she retorted playfully, lowering herself to the floor beside him. "Why, you got someone in mind?"

The sniper fixed his blue eyes on her and studied her for a long time.

"You know, you could take a photo," she suggested. "That way, I don't have to keep standing here. Shove over."

He chuckled, scooting away from the wall. Nomad settled herself into the space between him and the wall, resting her head on his chest and stifling a yawn.

Right now, that forty-eight hours under observation was looking pretty good.


	16. Chapter 16

YAAAAAAAAAY! I _finally_ got another chapter done! Argh, I've been so slack lately...I need to get off my butt and start writing more. Haha, sometimes I wish I didn't need to sleep...or eat...or do the grocery shopping (which ALWAYS puts me in a bad mood because I always get stuck behind the people who walk slow or stop in the middle of the freaking aisle)...or work... :D

But enough of that. It's been a while since my last post, so I can't remember if I needed to do any shoutouts, so I'll just say the general thanks to everyone who reads, reviews and in general puts up with me :D

I hope this chapter was worth the wait... :D

* * *

><p>There was, predictably, a group waiting for them in the heavy equipment level of the Pit. The first person Nomad saw was Shipwreck - whenever Jeckle returned from a mission, if he could, he'd be waiting to welcome her home.<p>

Leatherneck rolled his eyes and huffed as the sailor lifted the tiny Joe from the back of the VAMP.

"Oh, you're just jealous," Jeckle said good-naturedly, grinning at the Marine. "'Wreck, why don't you lift Leatherneckout of the car, too, make him feel loved?"

Nomad snorted at that mental image_. _Leatherneck heard her and shot her a foul look; she considered it a miracle she didn't drop dead right then and there.

Jeckle giggled and waved dismissively Leatherneck, then grabbed Shipwreck's hand with both of hers. "Come on, sailor boy," she said. "How 'bout I let you shiver my timbers?"

There was a collective groan from the gathered Joes. Scarlett raised an eyebrow at Jeckle. "Has anyone ever told you you over-share?"

"All the time," Jeckle replied promptly. "Oh look, there's Kismet. You guys have fun in observation, now, won't you?"

As the shaggy-haired redhead and the sailor disappeared into the personnel elevator, Scarlett rolled her eyes. "They're perfect for each other," she said dryly.

"Oh, come _on_," Covergirl retorted as they all jumped out of the car. "If you weren't going into observation with us, you and Snake Eyes would be getting it on as soon as you could, too."

The ninja in question came to a stop before them. *That's true,* he signed, his shoulders shaking with a silent laugh. *But _we_ don't announce it to the whole Pit.* He gestured to their weapons. *Here, I'll take those.*

Nomad handed over her assault rifle and the knives she'd taken on the mission with her, feeling a last pang of regret - or maybe it was guilt - for the loss of her two handguns. By the time Covergirl and Scarlett handed over their weapons as well, Snakes Eyes looked even more like a walking armoury than he already was. It was a little scary.

"See you later," Scarlett said grudgingly.

In a rare show of affection - a rare show of _public_ affection - Snake Eyes stripped one of his gloves off and touched his hand to Scarlett's cheek.

Nomad smiled slightly to herself before turning away to head over to where Kismet was nervously standing with Duke, Lifeline, and the other Joes who'd gone to the village. Before she got very far, though, Lowlight appeared by her side, taking hold of her elbow gently. "You want me to bring you anything?"

She automatically shook her head. "No, I think -"

She broke off. Lowlight watched her patiently, as if he could read her thoughts through her eyes. She didn't know if he'd meant it or not, but once again, he'd make asking for help easier; by offering to bring her what she wanted, he'd saved her asking Lifeline…which she honestly wouldn't have minded doing, if what she'd wanted hadn't been sleeping pills. She knew Lifeline would never judge her for it, but she always felt a little embarrassed when she asked him to refill her prescription.

Still…she didn't want Lowlight to think the mission had messed her up. It hadn't - well, not as bad as last one - but she had the feeling that tonight she'd be revisiting that village. And maybe dangling from the catwalk over a very high drop again.

Dammit. She'd better get to Psyche Out before she developed a _real_ fear of heights.

Also, there was the fact that the sleeping pills were in the top drawer of her bedside table - her underwear drawer. Nomad blushed just thinking about it. Not that Lowlight hadn't seen it all before…but she suddenly wished that she had some _sexy_ undies for him to go through. Ignoring the sniper's quiet protests, Nomad had thrown away the lacy black thong Covergirl had given her for an undercover mission (and then slipped into her pack when Nomad went to a fellow Joe's funeral and had to share a room with Lowlight). Now, the sexiest undies she had were red low-riding hipsters; he'd told her they were his favourite when they were in Hawaii.

It hadn't stopped him trying to get her to buy another thong, though.

Lowlight gave her a crooked grin. "You think…?" he pressed.

Maybe he _could_ read her mind.

Nomad blushed brighter. "I…um…can you get my sleeping pills for me?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean, it's not that I -"

He gave her arm a squeeze - his silent way of saying it was okay. "Where are they?"

"Top drawer of my bedside table," she said gratefully.

He nodded, released her and turned to walk away.

"Oh, and grab my iPod for me!" she said. "It'll be either on the table or under my pillow."

He turned to her and bowed mockingly, still walking backwards. "Anything else?" he asked.

Nomad couldn't help herself; she had to laugh at him. She liked it when Lowlight let his playful side show - it usually only came out when they were alone. She always liked to tease him that, one day, she'd ruin his reputation for being cool and aloof, and tell everyone what he _really_ got up to. It always backfired on her; he always responded by doing something he _knew_ she'd never tell anyone about and saying, 'Oh yeah?'.

"Hmm…nah, I think that's all," she said, smiling. "I'll have Lifeline let you know if I think of anything else."

"Will you just," he retorted.

"Yep."

He straightened up, gesturing to the two sniper rifles slung over his broad shoulders. "I gotta go. I'll see you later."

"Thanks, Coop."

Nomad watched until he was out of sight, then turned, only to see Covergirl and Scarlett grinning at her. She sighed. "What _now_?"

"Nothing," Covergirl said, far too innocently.

Nomad narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"_Nothing_!" the former model repeated vehemently.

"Uh huh. Sure."

Scarlett chuckled. "Come on, we'd better go. Duke looks like he's getting impatient."

"Duke _always_ looks like he's getting impatient," Covergirl muttered as they made their way over to the group.

Not everyone was as unfazed about being in lockdown as Nomad was at the moment. Right now, she was too tired to care. Of course, she'd be climbing the walls by the end of the forty eight hours (hell, probably by the end of twenty four) but until then, she'd take what rest - and sleep - she could get. Beachhead, though, looked grumpier than usual; his balaclava was scrunched into a tight ball in one massive paw, and his jaw kept clenching. Breaker was looking forward to a few days leave which he'd now have to reschedule - he'd told her while they were waiting for the others to get out of the decontamination tents. Scarlett obviously wanted some alone time with Snakes.

Nobody was grumbling though. Yet. They'd all volunteered, and they'd all known the conditions.

"I have quarantine set up like you ordered," Kismet was saying to Doc, Lifeline and Airtight. "Three rooms, one for the girls and two for the guys." She shifted nervously when everyone looked at her.

"Quarantine?" Beachhead asked suspiciously, looming over the medic with his arms crossed. "Ah thought it was just _observation_."

Kismet shrunk back a little.

"It is," Lifeline said, coming to her rescue. "We just need to make sure none of you were exposed to anything -"

"How 'bout Beachhead's BO?" Breaker asked dryly, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the big Ranger. "Does that count?"

Beachhead gave a low growl, glaring at the comms man. "How 'bout a fist in the face, Kibbey?"

Lifeline sighed, shaking his head. Apparently, he'd used to try and convince the Joes to use non-violent ways of settling disputes; he'd long since given up. "_Anyway_, it's just a precaution. I'm sure you're all fine."

Breaker glanced sideways at Beachhead. "For now," he muttered, not quite under his breath.

With a wry grin at Scarlett and Covergirl, Nomad followed Lifeline, Kismet and the rest of them toward the infirmary.

* * *

><p>"Noooomaaaad. Heeeey, Nomad, somebody's here to seeee yoouu!"<p>

Shaking her head at Covergirl's playful sing-song voice, Nomad opened her eyes, rolled off her bed and crossed to the door of the room she, the former model and Scarlett were sharing.

The room itself was only a little bigger than the one Nomad normally shared with Covergirl - this one had three beds, of course, but also had a small bathroom tacked onto the end. Kismet had already raided their rooms and brought them their pyjamas and clothes for the next day, as well as anything else they might need; shampoo, conditioner, toothbrushes, other toiletries. They'd already had a lengthy discussion about whether or not Kismet had gone to the guys' rooms, or if she'd sent someone else. Nomad's bet was that she'd sent Footloose - she couldn't imagine the shy medic going through the guys' clothes.

There was a window set at eye level in the heavy door - which, much to Nomad's disgust, was being kept locked. She knew it was only protocol…she also knew it was just as well, otherwise she - and the rest of them - most likely would've ended up disobeying Lifeline's orders and eventually walking out. They weren't supposed to leave the room; there was even an opening at waist height in the door for food to be passed through, even though it'd probably be opened, anyway. Since they'd been through the decontamination process in Africa, this was just a formality. Being in the same room also meant Lifeline and the greenshirts didn't have to round them up for their medical checks every six hours.

"So. Bored yet?" His voice floated up to her through the gap in the door - the window was made of thick Plexiglass, and couldn't be opened.

Nomad grinned wryly through the window at Lowlight. "Not yet," she said. "It's only been a couple hours. Gimme a bit longer and I will be."

The sniper chuckled quietly. "I brought your sleeping pills," he said, handing them to her through the gap.

"Thanks," she said. "And what else?"

He shook his head, still chuckling, and pressed her purple iPod into her hand. Wildcard had bought it for her only a few months ago after breaking her old one - which she _still_ didn't know how he'd managed - but it had seen a lot of use. Sometimes, when she'd been resigned, listening to music had been the only thing that could take her mind off the bad stuff. "Uh…you _do_ know you're allowed to open the door?"

"I know," he said, grasping her hand through the gap before she could move away. His grin turned wicked, and he glanced up and down the corridor before leaning a little closer to the window. "I really like those red panties," he muttered mischievously. "When you get out of there, we should finish what we started before the mission."

Nomad cleared her throat loudly, her face burning bright red. She could just feel Covergirl and Scarlett's eyes boring curiously into her back. "Coop!" she hissed. "Shut _up_!"

His eyes sparkled as he released her hand. "Just a thought," he said quietly, backing away from the door.

"Well, you just keep that thought to yourself," she scolded, but she was unable to keep the satisfied smirk off her face.

"I'll be back soon," the sniper promised. "If you need anything else -"

"I'm good for now," she assured him. "Thanks, Coop."

He nodded to her and headed off down the hall. Nomad watched until she couldn't see him through the door anymore.

Damn. Now that he'd mentioned it, she couldn't help but imagine what would happen when she _did_ get out of observation.

…And now that she'd _imagined_ it, she couldn't wait.

Nomad turned around just in time to see Covergirl and Scarlett casting each other knowing looks. "And you two can just stop that."

"Stop what?" Scarlett asked, far too innocently. "If Lowlight wants to discuss your personal life when we can clearly hear him, you're fair game."

"So," Covergirl added expectantly, "exactly _what_ did you and Lowlight start before the mission?"

Nomad sighed in exasperation. Suddenly, the next two days looked like they were going to go _very_ slowly.

* * *

><p>It was just after midnight, and Covergirl and Scarlett were already asleep when Lowlight came back. Nomad wasn't tired just yet - with the warmth and assurance of the sniper beside her in the C-130, she'd managed to catch a couple of hours sleep. Another three surprisingly dreamless hours during the day meant she'd got more sleep today than she normally did; she was used to getting by on much less than that. Still, before Lowlight had returned, she'd been thinking about taking a couple of pills and maybe having a nice long sleep in, since she didn't have PT to worry about.<p>

Nomad's bed was right by the bathroom door; she'd had it cracked open a little so she could read without disturbing the other women too much. Wild Bill had given Kismet a small stack of his books to give to Nomad. They were old pulp fiction western books - hell, they'd probably been old when Nomad was a kid. They were yellowed, smelled a little musty, and none of them sat flat; Wild Bill had a habit of folding the thin covers back onto themselves so he could hold the books with one hand.

It was a guilty pleasure; Nomad actually quite enjoyed reading the cowboy books. The only problem was they didn't take long to finish. She was almost up to the last book already.

The knock was so quiet she almost hadn't heard it, but she'd felt his eyes on her through the small window. Holding back her smile, she'd waited until he'd knocked again before nonchalantly looking up, putting the book down and crossing to the door.

"You knew I was here," Lowlight accused quietly, but his eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled.

"Maybe," Nomad murmured, glancing over her shoulder at the other two, huddled underneath their blankets. If either of them was to wake up, it would be Scarlett - once Covergirl was asleep, there was no waking her.

"Bored _now_?" he asked.

"I've been reading some of Bill's books."

Lowlight nodded. "So yeah, you're bored."

"Hey, some of those books aren't too bad," she said, feeling she should defend Bill's taste in literature. "Can you get some more off him? I'm almost done with these ones."

He chuckled. "Nomad, who was your last slave?"

"Well, if you don't want to, I'll ask Lifeline -"

Lowlight gave a theatrical sigh. "Oh, fine."

They fell silent for a moment. Nomad looked down, not quite sure what else to say…well, not quite sure what else to say that she wouldn't care if Covergirl or Scarlett overheard.

When she looked up, Lowlight was gone. "Wha -" She sighed. "Okay. Bye," she muttered, turning away.

Something caught the hem of her singlet. She turned to see Lowlight's hand sticking through the gap, stopping her from moving away. She pried his fingers off and knelt down, peering through. He was leaning against the other side of the door, his legs pulled up and his arms resting on his knees.

He turned to glance at her. "You still think I'm gonna take off, don't you?"

Nomad opened her mouth to answer, but couldn't think of anything to say. She though about denying it; she even thought about pretending she didn't know what he was talking about. Then again, she knew that even with the door between them, he'd see right through her.

And…she was a little afraid of where this conversation could go. Was this what he'd been trying to bring up, each time he started to say something and then stopped himself?

Suddenly, she wished she wasn't in this damn observation room, where she had nowhere to go, no training gear or bad movies to distract herself - or him - with. What was she supposed to say? What did he want to hear?

Nomad lifted her head. The sniper was still looking at her intently, his eyes burning into hers. "I…no," she said hesitantly - and once she said it, she realised she knew it was true. "No," she said more firmly, then gave him a small smile. "I know I'm stuck with you."

He seemed to relax, as if she'd somehow reassured him of something. "Good," he said. "So I'm starting to get it through your thick head, am I?"

Her smile faded a little, and she leaned her head back on the door. Well…she might as well ask him now. "Coop…I know I'm not good at stuff like this, but…is there something you wanna tell me? There's been a few times - I mean, it's like you've started to say something, but you've changed your mind."

Lowlight was silent. Instead, he put his hand up to the gap again - she could tell he wasn't going to answer. She wouldn't press it…not _this_ time, anyway. "Alright. Just…it's nothing bad, right?"

He huffed a laugh and wiggled his fingers at her. "It's nothing bad. I promise."

She linked her fingers with his and closed her eyes. "Well, that's okay, then." She paused, then hurriedly added, "Not that I couldn't handle it if it _was_, because I could."

She could feel his quiet laughter vibrating through the door. "Oh, shut up."

He did - eventually - and again they sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes.

"Hey, Coop?" Nomad asked suddenly.

"Yeah?"

She paused, but now she'd started, she had to finish. "I…don't think I've ever thanked you. For everything you do for me."

"You don't have to."

"I do!" she insisted. Lowlight hushed her, and when she spoke next her voice was barely more than a whisper. "You put up with so much crap from me, and you get nothing back."

He turned around to face her. "I get you."

For a moment she just sat there, trying to get her mouth to form words and failing dismally. Finally, she managed to choke out, "Is that enough?"

"It's everything."

She was spared the heartache of trying to answer that when she heard the sound of a door opening somewhere in the corridor outside, then footsteps which she recognised as Lifeline's.

"Relax, I was just leaving," Lowlight said before the medic could get a word out.

"Yeah, well, make sure _you_ get some sleep tonight, too," Lifeline retorted sharply. He sounded tired; Nomad felt a pang of sympathy for him. He'd probably been working non-stop on the samples Doc had taken from the bodies in the village.

For once, Lowlight didn't give a dry remark. He returned his blue gaze to Nomad. "Sleep," he ordered, in his firing-range voice.

"Yes, sir," she answered with a grin.

But it was easier said than done.

* * *

><p>"This is the last one, right?" Breaker asked hopefully as Kismet took yet another blood sample.<p>

"Second last," she answered apologetically. "There's one more medical before we let you out."

Breaker swore.

Pressing the gauze pad to her arm where the greenie had just taken blood, Nomad had to silently agree with Breaker. She was starting to feel like a pin cushion…or a lab rat. Every six hours since they'd been confined to the observation quarters they'd been poked, prodded, stabbed, had bright lights flashed in their eyes and been made to pee in cups, just in case the neurotoxin had somehow affected them. So far, each test had come back negative. Nomad didn't see why they had to keep having the tests - surely if something had…poisoned them, or whatever, it would've shown by now?

Then again, there was a reason she wasn't a medic. And questioning the medics wasn't usually a very smart thing to do.

Still…she was _dying_ to get out of the infirmary. She just wanted to _do_ something.

"'Before we let ya out'," Beachhead grumbled. "Sounds like we're in prison, or somethin'."

"Well, Jeckle _did _insist on giving us our breakfast on trays through the door this morning," Scarlett pointed out with a grin.

"You too, huh?" Duke asked wryly.

Yes, even the top sergeant himself was apparently getting sick of being in observation. Nomad allowed herself a small smile; it was nice to know that even Duke wasn't above suffering the small stuff.

Not that she'd ever say that to his face.

"Yeah, well, Ah still don't see why we can't -" Beachhead started.

He didn't get any further. Unexpectedly - Kismet slapped her clipboard down on the table beside the big Ranger and flapped her arms in exasperation. "For god's sake, would you all just shut up and quit _whining_?"

It was the loudest Nomad had ever heard the greenie speak. Even Beachhead looked a little shocked - Nomad didn't dare to laugh, but it was funny seeing him looking at Kismet with his fierce eyes all wide.

In fact, the only ones who _weren't_ staring at Kismet were Doc and Lifeline. All Airtight did was glance up briefly from his paperwork - he'd been working on it every time Nomad had seen him in here, and she still had no idea what he was doing. She'd asked once, but stopped listening halfway through his long-winded explanation.

Kismet wasn't finished. "Seriously, it's only for another six hours! You all knew this was coming and you _still_ volunteered to go, and you've all had worse, so _suck it up_!"

Lifeline, halfway through Scarlett's blood test, caught Nomad's eye and bit his lip, obviously trying hard not to laugh. Beachhead, not used to anyone but Covergirl talking back to him, seemed to be lost for words. Duke had an eyebrow raised, studying Kismet thoughtfully,

"I…um…" Kismet started, her voice soft and meek again. The look on her face was priceless - she looked absolutely mortified that she'd just yelled at a roomful of Joes which included both Duke _and_ Beach. Without warning, she spun around and all but bolted from the room, leaving her clipboard behind.

"'Atta girl, Kismet," Doc said quietly.

"Huh," Beach grunted, glancing sideways at the doctor. "Looks like she's finally gettin' the right idea. We might make a Joe outta her yet."

Lifeline straightened up. "She's been helping me with Doc's samples," he explained. "We've both been pretty busy the last couple of days…and I think losing those greenshirts shook her up a little."

"She's a medic, she better get used to it," Beachhead grumbled.

Doc glanced at him, an irritated expression on his face, but it was, unexpectedly, Duke who opened his mouth. "She's working on it." His tone made it clear that it was the end of the discussion.

"Yeah, yeah…" Beach muttered, but it was good-natured. Or at least as good-natured as Beachhead could possibly sound.

Doc finished up, taking his own blood and handing it to Lifeline, and then they all filed back into their separate rooms.

"Only six more hours," Scarlett said, throwing herself onto her bed, "and then we can get the hell outta here."

Nomad sat on her own bed, reaching for the latest of Wild Bill's paperbacks, when Covergirl gave a sudden laugh. "Well, _that's_ a side of Kismet I haven't seen before."

"I have," Scarlett answered. "Believe it or not, she does have some guts in there."

Nomad thought back to the morning when the greenshirts had been talking about the training mission they'd been on - the morning after she'd come face to face again with Goldilocks - when Lockjaw had sworn Kismet was part ninja. She hadn't thought much of it at the time - actually, she'd thought maybe Lockjaw had been exaggerating, because for some reason she'd always imagined Kismet as a pacifist, like Lifeline…but maybe there _was_ something else there.

"Oh, I know _that_," Covergirl said. "I mean, she'd _have_ to, after everything that happened, right?"

Nomad put the book down, looking at the other two women. She wasn't sure she wanted to know - 'after everything that happened', in Nomad's experience, never came before something good, and god knew she should mind her own business - but she asked anyway. "There's something I'm missing, isn't there? I thought Kismet was just shy."

Scarlett paused. "You wouldn't know, would you?" she asked.

"Apparently not," Nomad said dryly, then she shook her head and gave a proper answer. "No, Kismet signed up two weeks before I...came back."

"You know she was regular army?"

"Yeah. Did she tell you, or…" Nomad trailed off. She couldn't imagine Kismet talking to people much, either.

Scarlett shook her head. "Course not. I think the only person she actually told herself would've been Psyche Out, and only because she had to. She was raped when she was going through the greenshirt selection training. I don't know all the details, but Stalker was one of the recruiting officers, and he noticed something was off. There were two of the bastards - one was a sergeant in her unit. Stalker literally pulled him off her, and they were dishonourably discharged - but one of them took a photo on his cell. The second week she was her, it was posted on the net."

"Son of a…" Nomad shook her head. No wonder the poor girl was so shy…especially around the guys. "What about the photo? Did it get taken down?"

"Mainframe fixed that," Covergirl said with a small grin.

"Ah." With what Mainframe could do with a computer, Nomad wouldn't have been surprised if he'd somehow traced the origin of the photo and…made a virus that blew up the poster's computer, or something.

That was the end of the conversation. Nomad didn't want to pry into Kismet's business - she'd certainly never liked anyone prying into _hers_ - and Scarlett and Covergirl seemed to feel the same. They sat in silence for a while.

Eventually, Covergirl sighed, then reached over and grabbed a book off the pile of Bill's westerns, raising a perfectly groomed eyebrow at Nomad. "You _like _reading these?"

"Shut up. They're oddly enjoyable."

* * *

><p>"Freedom!" Breaker shouted as the rest of the Joes from observation watched him running down the hallway toward the door. His attempt at a Scottish accent was so pitiful it made even Kismet giggle.<p>

"Braveheart, he ain't," Scarlett said, shaking her head.

Lifeline had been kind to them. After talking it over with Doc - who, it had to be said, looked just about as sick of being confined as the rest of them - he'd completed the last few medical tests and released the group an hour early, so they could go have lunch in the mess hall. There was still one _last_ test, but Nomad regarded it more as a test of patience than anything else: each one of them had an appointment with Psyche Out. Nomad's was later on in the day - Psyche Out had given her the second last time slot, before Duke's. She had time to get in some decent training. She was dying to get out and do something - whether it was running a few laps of the perimeter, some good, muddy PT…or hell, even just walking across to the PX Snack Bar sounded good. Maybe she'd ask if the grease monkeys in the garage wanted to grab something to eat; it'd been a while since she'd sat down with Rock 'n' Roll, Clutch and Steeler.

Nomad and Covergirl dumped their stuff in their room, then headed up to the mess hall. It was already starting to get busy - it looked like Leatherneck, in Beachhead's absence, had taken to heart the task of putting the greenies through hell on the obstacle course. They traipsed in, muddy and bedraggled, some of them covered in a layer of greenish tunnel slime. In food prep, Jeckle - covered in flour - waved and pointed them to a table where Flint and Lady Jaye were already seated.

"Huh," Flint said, looking up as Nomad and Covergirl sat down. "I'm a little disappointed."

Covergirl raised an eyebrow at him, but Nomad noticed the grin Lady Jaye was a little too slow to hide. "Why's that?" she asked, humouring the warrant officer.

"Me and Jaye had a bet going that you'd be horribly mutated." Flint turned to Lady Jaye and grinned rakishly. "Guess I'm taking you out to dinner."

"No surprises there," Jaye retorted. "Although I _am_ surprised that they all made it through the two days without killing each other."

"It was easy," Covergirl said, waving a hand dismissively. "We weren't in the same room as Duke and Beach."

"Good point."

Nomad only half-listened to the conversation as she glanced around the room, checking out who was around. It had been a busy week - for her, at least, and Beachhead, too. Nomad could barely believe that the mission to protect the president had only been a few days ago. It felt like it'd been longer; with all that'd happened in Africa, she'd almost forgotten about Goldilocks.

Where was he now? What was he doing? Did he have anything to do with the neurotoxin missiles? And speaking of the neurotoxin missiles, how long was it going to take for Doc and Airtight to figure out…whatever they were trying to figure out?

Nomad sighed. The questions just seemed to keep on piling up, and none of them were getting answered.

* * *

><p>"Hah!" Sci-Fi raised his fists in the air triumphantly, almost yanking the controller cord out of the console. "I win again! Take that, Nomad!"<p>

"One more," she urged, glancing at her watch before giving the laser gunner a shove. She'd been thinking about going to find Lowlight for an impromptu night session on the firing range…but she couldn't leave without beating Sci-Fi. "This time, I'm gonna beat the crap outta you."

"Oh, you can try, baby, you can try," he retorted. "But I am the master. You see those scores? All mine. Because I'm awesome."

Nomad snorted, ignoring the list of high scores that all read SPF - initials standing for Seymour P Fine. "Less talk, more zombie-killing."

She'd spent most of the day being happily active - training, sparring with Scarlett (and Snake Eyes when he made a sudden appearance from apparently thin air, causing both women to swear and team up to try and beat him. They failed miserably.), getting covered in mud when she joined in a PT session Stalker was running. She ached all over, now - but it was a good ache. Mostly. Her shoulder still hurt a little from jumping out the window on the president's op, and the cuts on her face and arms had scabbed over and were starting to itch. She'd already had Lifeline tell her off multiple times for scratching at them.

Her appointment with Psyche Out had gone well; she'd gone to see him just after dinner. It wasn't anything important - he was just making sure she hadn't flipped out completely after the stress of the mine collapsing, the dead village, the decontamination procedure, and being in lockdown. After an hour or so, he deduced that she was, in fact, still sane - or as sane as any Joe _could_ be - and released her.

Since then, she'd returned Wild Bill's books and added more playlists to her iPod from the Pit's computers; she was hoping to drag Mainframe to the shop to get a new laptop soon. She'd spent the last hour or so playing gory zombie-killing games with Sci-Fi. He was good - he hardly ever missed a headshot, and his red crosshairs symbol were always so damn _steady_. Nomad's blue symbol was all over the place, and she was forever reloading because - unlike in real life - in the zombie world ammo never ran out, and she gleefully kept her finger on the trigger button. Sci-Fi was the opposite; at the end of the level, when their stats flashed up on the screen, he'd always fired less than half as many shots as she had.

Sci-Fi grinned mischievously at her, selecting a level they hadn't played yet; a carnival level which no doubt involved many zombie clowns.

"You're going down, geek," Nomad said.

"Prepare to lose, grunt."

They selected their favourite weapons - Nomad the semiautomatic and the double-barrelled shotgun, Sci-Fi the shotgun and the default handgun - and began the level. As she'd suspected, the first thing she saw was a zombie clown staggering toward them on Sci-Fi's side of the screen. She stole the shot, exploding the clown's head with an exaggerated splattering noise.

"I let you have that one," Sci-Fi said quickly.

"Suuuure."

They were almost finished the level - and Nomad's score was higher than the laser gunner's - when somebody perched on the arm of the couch beside her. She didn't take her eyes off the screen; zombies were coming thick and fast. Clowns, sideshow freaks, carnies, ex-fun-loving fair-goers…

"Hang on a sec, Lowlight, I'm just about to kick Sci-Fi's ass and beat his high score," she said, letting rip a head-high burst of semiautomatic fire. A wave of zombies fell, only to be replaced by more.

"I don't _think_ so," the laser gunner retorted, giving her a playful nudge and making her miss a headshot. The zombie swiped at her, and three bloody gashes appeared on Nomad's side of the screen.

"Hey!" she protested, laughing. "Cheater!"

"Stop complaining, you unplugged my controller before!" he pointed out.

Lowlight shifted beside her. He smelled good; he must've just had a shower. No night training runs tonight, then. "Nomad, can we -"

"We're almost done, Lowlight," she assured him, leaning forward. On her other side, Sci-Fi did the same, jostling her a little and making sure to keep the controller cord out of her reach. His tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth: he was getting serious now, taking his shots a little more carefully. His score was quickly catching up to hers. "Lowlight, make yourself useful and distract -"

Without warning, the TV screen went black.

"What the -" Both Nomad and Sci-Fi turned to see Lowlight looking back at them, the console cord dangling over one finger. "Lowlight, what the hell?" Nomad asked in disbelief. "I was _this_ close!"

She wanted to say more, but she shut her mouth when he fixed his eyes on her. "We need to talk," he said, shooting Sci-Fi a pointed look.

Sci-Fi took the hint immediately, stood up and dropped his controller onto the couch beside Nomad. "Right," he said. "Nomad, I'll let you win next time, okay?"

She couldn't help but turn her attention to him. "_Let_ me win?" she asked indignantly. "Look, SPF, I can win without…" She trailed off as he gave her a small smile, then tipped his head in Lowlight's direction. "Yeah. Okay. Next time," she said grudgingly.

Nomad waited until he closed the door before turning to Lowlight with a grin. "This better be worth it; I almost had him beat."

He didn't say anything. The only sound she could hear in the empty rec room was the ticking of the console as it cooled down.

Shit. This was serious. Nomad suddenly wished Sci-Fi hadn't left, that her stupid brain would think of an excuse that would get her the hell out of there - but then again, hadn't she _wanted_ Lowlight to talk to her?

She searched around for the remote, picked it up and switched the TV off, giving herself that couple of seconds more to compose herself. He was still looking at her with that unreadable expression he got sometimes - the one she'd never been able to figure out. "Coop?"

Damn. She hadn't wanted to sound that nervous. What if she didn't _want_ to find out what he wanted to talk about? Sure, he'd promised last night that it was nothing bad, but still…

What if…what if he'd found out what _she'd_ been trying to find the guts to tell him?

Nomad quickly pushed that thought away. She knew the Pit policy on 'what ifs' all too well.

Lowlight crossed the room and sat close beside her. "We need to talk," he repeated.

She nodded. "I know. Coop, look -"

He shook his head, silencing her, but again he didn't say anything. He just sat there, looking at her.

She felt herself beginning to blush. "So -"

Lowlight kissed her, his arms sliding around her waist and pulling her tightly to him. One hand went to her face, his thumb stroking her cheek. It was a soft, sweet kiss - it reminded her of the very first one they'd shared.

She gave him a small smile when she pulled away. He didn't let her go; his hand was still resting gently on her face. His clear blue eyes drilled into her; his gaze was so intense, she felt like she'd been superglued in place. It took almost everything she had to break the silence and ask, "Coop, what's wrong?" She sneakily took a deep breath - if he was going to tell her, now was the time. She braced herself for it…whatever it was.

Lowlight shoulders rose and fell as he, too, took a deep breath.

"Shezz…I love you."


	17. Chapter 17

And finally, another update! So I'm still slacking off...if it's not hockey, it's dance, or whatever other random thing comes up...and I'm always tired lately. Which sucks. Because I can't write when I'm tired, because it always turns out crap.

Anyway, this chapter: it's mostly Nomad angst (more of it), and not much happens. Next chapter I'll try and get some action in - fighty action and maybe some Lowlight and Nomad action...it's been a while :D

Thanks to everyone who reviews, and thanks for being patient! Hope you like this chapter :D

* * *

><p>It literally felt like Snake Eyes - no, Storm Shadow, he was less forgiving than Snakes - had flipped her upside down, then slammed her onto the floor. She couldn't catch her breath; it was as if the air been knocked from her lungs. Or maybe she was suffocating…she wasn't entirely sure.<p>

In fact, she wasn't entirely sure of anything right now. She couldn't think. Had Lowlight just said what she thought he said?

No. He couldn't have. Could he? Maybe she'd misheard.

Again, no; she'd heard him clearly. Why _else_ would she feel like the world was spinning around her; like her heart might burst at any point now?

Nomad stared at the sniper, waiting for the lopsided grin that would tell her he was joking. It didn't come; instead, he looked her in the eyes, his hand still pressed to her cheek. The look in his eyes…it reminded her of how he'd looked back at that hotel, after he'd kissed her for the first time: like he thought she was going to run away.

She didn't know _what_ to do. This was a new situation for her, one that she'd never thought she'd have to deal with.

Well…almost never. Maybe she'd daydreamed about it - maybe just once or twice - wondered what she'd do if Lowlight ever said those three scary, beautiful words. But…a daydream was all it had been. Right? With all her issues - even though he'd always been patient with her, far more patient than she herself probably would have been if their situations had been reversed - she'd never expected to hear those words.

She still couldn't breathe; couldn't even _think_. And so she did the first thing that came to mind; a response that, until she'd joined the Joe team, had become almost automatic. Nomad pulled away from Lowlight, shaking her head. "No…I…what?" Dammit, she couldn't even string two words together.

He reached for her hands, but stopped when she shifted back. "You heard me," he said firmly, undeterred. "I love you."

"Coop - I…"

She what? What was she supposed to say? Was she supposed to say it back? Was that what he was waiting for?

Or maybe the question was, _could_ she say it?

…No. The answer was no. She couldn't. She hated herself for it, but…she just couldn't. Not when she still hadn't told him about -

"Shezz?" There was an edge to Lowlight's voice she hadn't heard before. It took a moment, but she finally realised what it was: uncertainty.

And it was all her fault. But…she just couldn't say what he wanted to hear.

Nomad stood up quickly. "Lowlight, I…have to go. I…I'm sorry."

With her eyes fixed firmly on the floor, avoiding his gaze, Nomad hurried out of the rec room. She didn't look back.

She didn't want to see the expression on his face as she just left him sitting there.

* * *

><p>It seemed like tonight was the night for her to fall back into her old habits; Nomad didn't know how long she wandered around the Pit, lost in her own thoughts. Only this time she couldn't trust her feet to take her to…well, back to the rec room.<p>

What was her problem? It wasn't like she _wanted_ to push him away. She'd done that once before, and it'd been almost more than she could take. Hell, she'd take getting cut up by Goldilocks again - or Andy - over that.

She wasn't looking where she was going. She didn't even know if she was going anywhere in particular - it felt like she'd been hypnotised, and that word, 'love', had been the trigger that snapped her back to reality.

Lowlight said he loved her.

And she'd just walked away. God, what the fuck was _wrong_ with her?

Nomad didn't get to finish listing all the possible answers to that question - right then, she bumped into somebody who was roughly the same build as a brick wall.

A hand whipped out and grabbed her elbow before she tripped backwards over her own feet. Nomad didn't recognise the many scars on the arms until she glanced up.

Snake Eyes had just come from the training room; instead of his black Kevlar suit, he wore a pair of track pants and a half-unzipped hoodie with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows. The hood was pulled up over his head, shadowing his damaged face.

"Sorry, Snakes. Wasn't looking where I was going." Nomad made to step around him, but he pressed a hand firmly to her shoulder, stopping her. He tipped his head to one side - he didn't need to sign his question, but he did anyway. *What's wrong?*

Damn. Maybe her tone had given her away. Nomad shook her head. "Not now, Snakes," she said with a sigh. She tried to sidestep past him, but he grabbed her shoulder again. She didn't even bother trying to shake him off; that was his 'you aren't going anywhere' grip.

He had to let go to sign his question again - unlike Scarlett and Storm Shadow, Nomad couldn't understand him when he only used one hand.

"Nothing," she answered, hoping he'd drop it. She ducked past him - he allowed her to - and went to push open the training room door, not far down the hall.

Of course, Snake Eyes wasn't going to make it easy for her. Snakes dodged around her and casually blocked the door, leaning against the frame and thrusting one arm against the other side as she tried to shove her way into the room. "Snakes -" she protested.

He shook his head obstinately. *Do I need to threaten you with Psyche Out?*

Nomad flapped her arms impatiently and tried a different tactic. "Poor Psyche…he must get so sick of people saying his name like it's a curse."

*Nice try. Don't change the subject.*

Dammit. She sighed in resignation. "Nobody around here can mind their own business, can they?"

One side - the unscarred side - of the ninja's mouth pulled up in a grin. Nomad rarely saw him without his mask on - either the intimidating black one with the visor or the incredibly realistic rubber mask that was modelled on his face as it would be without the burn scars. Now, with that cheeky little smirk, she could see how attractive he still was, even with the jagged, puckered flesh across the left side of his face.

She'd learned a lot from Snake Eyes and Scarlett.

Snake Eyes opened the door for her and ushered her in with a dramatic sweep of his arm and a bow. Rolling her eyes, Nomad walked into the training room and took a seat on the weight bench. There was nobody else in the room.

Typical. Just when she wanted somebody else to be in there, so she could use them as an excuse to not talk.

Snake Eyes sat on one of the other weight benches, giving her some space. He fixed his eyes on her, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"So, I guess you're not gonna drop it until I tell you something," Nomad stated dryly.

The ninja shook his head vehemently and twirled one hand, clearly meaning 'get on with it'.

She sighed again. Well, she was here…and Snake Eyes was pretty good at keeping secrets. "I…okay, so I was in the rec room playing -" She paused. "But that doesn't matter. Anyway -"

Snake Eyes was chuckling.

"What?" she snapped, glaring. "What's funny?"

He apologised quickly, holding his hands up in placation. *Sorry. Go on.*

Nomad shook her head. "Forget it. It's…stupid anyway." She went to get up and walk out, but as she passed him Snake Eyes reached out lazily (by his standards) and grabbed her wrist. She had to admit it, though: her escape attempt had been pretty half-hearted. She hadn't even _tried_ to give him a wide berth, even though she'd known he wouldn't let her go.

So…what was she going to say?

*- you, didn't he?*

Nomad blinked; she hadn't noticed Snake Eyes' hands moving. "What?"

Snake Eyes' shoulders heaved as he sighed. *Lowlight told you, didn't he?* he signed slowly.

Uh oh. Snakes was getting a little too close to the -

Wait a second.

Nomad narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the ninja. "How'd you -"

She broke off as, without warning, he clapped his hands and threw them up into the air triumphantly. For a moment she just stared at him. "Wait…you _knew_?"

…So that's why he'd been laughing

Snake Eyes pushed himself off the weight bench and came to sit beside Nomad on hers. He rapped his knuckles lightly on her head. *Hate to tell you, but I think you're the only one who hadn't realised. Or…is the word 'accepted'?*

The awkward moments when Lowlight had been about to say something, then stopped himself. Not wanting her to go with the others to the dead village. That night when he'd held her as she fell asleep…maybe she _hadn't _been hearing things, after all.

Snake Eyes looked at her, smiling slightly. *He's wanted to tell you for a while now.*

Nomad mentally shook herself and regained her composure. "So, uh…how'd you know he said…what he told me?"

Why couldn't she bring herself to say it? It wasn't like it had been with Goldilocks, when she hadn't been aware that she never said his name. She knew she was avoiding the 'L' word. Psyche Out better not catch wind of that…he'd have her in his office in no time flat, probably looking at Rorschach tests, or something.

*Contrary to popular belief, I like talking to people,* Snake Eyes signed, and she could just imagine the dry tone he would have spoken with if he'd been able to. *Lowlight talks to me a lot. Especially about you.*

Nomad groaned. "Aaah…"

Snake Eyes bumped her gently with his shoulder, then stood up. *Lowlight's a good man,* he pointed out.

"You think I don't know that?" she retorted, a little more waspishly than was safe. "I mean…he still wants me, after…everything. Right?"

*Don't sell yourself short, Nomad. You deserve to be happy, _especially_ after everything.*

Nomad raised her eyes to his. It was something she'd heard before - many times, from both friends and family - but for it to be coming from Snakes…why did that make it so different? Was it because he wasn't a doctor or a shrink? Or was it because they weren't exactly all that close and he wasn't _obliged_ to say it?

Or…was it because he and Scarlett were proof that scars really _didn't_ matter? They'd made something work between them.

Maybe it was -

*You know, he said he wasn't sure if he should tell you or not.*

She looked at the ninja worriedly. "What? Why not?"

*He knows you,* Snake Eyes answered simply.

Nomad lowered her eyes. Snake Eyes had put it nicely, but she knew what he meant - Lowlight had expected this reaction. He'd expected her to freak out.

What did that say about her?

"So…" she asked hesitantly, "what'd you say?"

Again, Snake Eyes grinned that cheeky grin. *Well, he told you, didn't he?*

"That's not what I asked," she pointed out.

Once again, Snakes sighed - this time a little impatiently - and he raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. *I told him what I'm telling you now, Nomad. Life's too short. You should know that by now.*

Nomad frowned and opened her mouth to say something that probably would've earned her an extra round in hand-to-hand, but Snakes' hands were still moving. *Just remember one thing.*

She waited for him to go on, but he was obviously waiting for her to answer. "What?"

Usually, she could tell his 'tone' from the way he moved his hands - sharp and choppy meant he was annoyed, more exaggerated meant he was happy, short, brief answers meant something was on his mind. This time, his expression said it all; he was really serious.

*Just remember you're not the only one with issues.* Snake Eyes shook his head at her when Nomad stood up, starting to object. *No, I don't mean it like that. What I'm saying is…it's not easy for him, either.*

Shit. She hadn't even thought of that…hadn't thought that maybe he found it as difficult to say as she did. Because it _couldn't_ have been easy for him to say.

Nomad knew Lowlight's history - she _knew_ he had almost as much baggage as she did. He'd been brought by an abusive father who'd drilled into him that showing emotion was weak. The bastard had punished young Cooper MacBride for being afraid of the dark, for fuck's sake.

Nomad just hadn't known the extent of it until Hawaii. The day before they'd returned to the Pit, Lowlight had convinced Nomad to talk about her family - not that there was much he hadn't known. Nomad's family was small; she had no brothers or sisters, and only two uncles on her father's side. It had been a short conversation.

The day had been warm, and they'd been lazing quietly on the beach, Nomad playfully burying the sniper in the sand. Once she was done talking about her family, Lowlight had hesitantly begun to talk about his - his mother, his sister Una…and even his father.

Lowlight had been terrified of the dark as a child. Nomad had listened, horrified and yet fascinated at the same time, as the sniper told her how his father had once locked him in the basement for a whole night, with only a flashlight. She hadn't been able to shake the image from her mind; little Cooper, so small, looking up the stairs with wide, scared blue eyes as his father slammed the door and locked it.

Another time, Lowlight's bastard father had taken the boy to a caryard, given him a rifle and forced him to hunt for rats the entire night. This, Lowlight had told her, was mostly what he dreamed about. There were other horrible things his father had done, but the caryard was what tormented him at night.

He didn't have the nightmares as often as he used to. Nomad had never been woken by him tossing and turning; it was always her who woke _him_ up.

Fuck, she was such a _bitch_; how could she not have thought of that? How could she take him for granted like that?

Hadn't she learned _anything_ when she nearly lost him?

"Son of a…Snakes, I didn't even think…god, what must he _think_?" she asked.

*He doesn't think anything,* Snake Eyes replied. *He loves you.*

Nomad was still trying to figure out if that answer was helpful or not when he squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and stood up. "Hey, wait -"

*I'll see you in hand-to-hand tomorrow, Nomad. If you're early, I might not partner you with Short Fuse.*

Snake Eyes disappeared out the door before Nomad could say another word. She got off the bench and hurried across the room, but when she stuck her head out into the corridor, the damn ninja had already vanished from sight.

With a sigh, Nomad turned around, glancing at her watch. It was only eleven o'clock; much earlier than it usually was when she found herself in here. Still…the training room was still empty, and she sure as hell wasn't going to get any sleep yet. She might as well make use of the time.

* * *

><p>"Nomad. Nomad?"<p>

"What?" Nomad yanked on the emergency stop clip and glanced around as the treadmill belt stopped abruptly.

Lifeline frowned back at her, offering a bottle of water. He didn't look happy, but Nomad couldn't think why he'd be annoyed with her - it wasn't like training late at night was new for her.

"What?" she repeated, turning to grab her own drink from its holder, only to find it empty. She gratefully accepted the bottle the medic pressed into her hand, but didn't meet his eyes as he scrutinised her.

"It's two in the morning, Nomad."

Nomad glanced at her watch. "So it is, Lifeline," she replied pleasantly, although it came as a slight shock to her. She hadn't realised she'd been in here that long. "Your point is…?"

"My _point_ is you've been on that treadmill for -" He peered past her at the timer. "- two hours."

She decided it'd be best if she _didn't_ tell the medic that before hopping on the machine she'd spent an hour trying to knock the stuffing out of the punching bag. "Well…I've been walking most of the time," she said lightly, hoping the small grin she gave would appease.

Apparently it didn't.

Truth be told, Nomad hadn't even realised she'd been in the training room for that long. She'd zoned out, like she always did when she was running alone - with none of the other women to talk to (and none of the guys to appreciate) she got bored quickly. And tonight she didn't have her iPod with her; she'd lent it to Jeckle to play around with, since the other woman was looking to upgrade from her tiny iPod Shuffle, but wanted to try Nomad's to see if she liked it or not. Either way, Nomad hadn't actually intended to stay in the training room for as long as she had, so she'd just gone and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge in the mess hall.

She should have thought to go find Jeckle and reclaim her music - especially after having such an unexpected bombshell dropped on her.

Lifeline had just said something; he was looking at her expectantly. "Huh?" she asked dumbly.

The medic apparently gave up. "Never mind," he sighed. He beckoned her off the treadmill. "No more training for you tonight. No, you've done enough," he added when she opened her mouth to protest.

Grumbling more on principle than because she wanted to stay, Nomad trudged after Lifeline, the bottle of water he'd brought her already half-empty.

He insisted on walking her to the door of her room. She didn't tell him, of course, but she was grateful for that; she probably would've spent another hour wandering aimlessly around the Pit if he hadn't been there. Or once he was out of sight, she probably would've gone back to the treadmill.

Then again, he probably knew that already. Damn medic.

Lifeline opened the door quietly. "_Try_ and get some sleep," he said sternly. "Don't worry about Low -"

He cut himself off as Nomad turned abruptly to stare at him. "Don't worry about _what_?" she asked. Her voice sounded calm enough, but inside it felt like she was having a heart attack. How could Lifeline know? If Lifeline knew, who else did?

Lifeline paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "Well…Snake Eyes told me that Lowlight finally said he -"

Nomad held her hand up, cutting Lifeline off again. She cast a cautious glance into her room, making sure Covergirl hadn't woken up - she hadn't, she was still snoring lightly - then rounded on the medic. She snatched the front of his bright red jumpsuit in both fists and shoved him back against the wall. "Do. Not. Tell. _Anyone_," she hissed.

Even though he could've easily broken free - not to mention floored her (non-violently) with his wannabe-ninja Aikido moves, Lifeline didn't attempt to. "But…why not?" he asked. "It's good news, isn't it?"

Nomad looked at him a moment longer, trying to figure out what to say. But he had a point. It wasn't fair for her to take her frustration and confusion out on him. "I…don't know," she said finally, sighing and resting her forehead on his chest between her still-clenched fists. "I don't…it's…" She paused, then ploughed ahead. "I still haven't told him about…you know what. I don't…know how."

Lifeline took hold of her hands and pried them from his uniform and gave her a brief, tight hug before putting his hands on her shoulders and holding her at arm's length. "This isn't something you need to worry about," he said gently. "Trust me. Trust _Lowlight_." He turned her towards her room and pushed her inside. "Look, take a couple of pills if you have to. Just get some sleep. You need it."

Nomad paused, looking over her shoulder at him. "You won't -"

He shook his head. "Not a word," he assured her, anticipating her question. "Go on, or I'll take you to the infirmary and pump you so full of drugs you won't wake up for a _week_." He gave her a small smile. "Although if that got rid of those dark shadows under your eyes, it might not be a bad idea."

Nomad managed to grin back at him. "No offence, but I never want to sleep in there again. See you tomor - later," she said, after glancing at her watch and realising that tomorrow was, in fact, already today. She closed the door quietly and tiptoed across to her bed. Covergirl hadn't woken up; she was still lying sprawled out on her back, her mouth open slightly. Nomad couldn't believe the damn woman could still look stunning when she was snoring. It wasn't fair.

Using her phone as a light, she quickly changed into her pyjamas - she couldn't be bothered showering - and downed a couple of sleeping pills, washing them down with the last of the water Lifeline had given her. Then she snuggled down beneath her blankets, pulling them right up to her chin and curling up on her side. As she waited for the pills to take effect, she looked at the photos and cards stuck to the wall beside her; birthday cards, get well cards, happy snaps of her and the Joes, one of her and her old team.

There was a photo of Lowlight, reclining in a hammock on the beach in Hawaii with a ridiculously brightly-coloured drink - complete with paper umbrella - in his hand. He was smiling broadly at her, beckoning her to him with his free hand.

As her eyelids grew heavy, Nomad reached out, pulled the photo off the wall and slapped it facedown on her bedside table.

* * *

><p>"What's your problem?" Covergirl asked, casting a curious look at Nomad as they sat down to have breakfast.<p>

"Huh? Nothing." She managed to keep her voice calm, but the question took Nomad completely by surprise and she almost spilled her cornflakes. She managed to straighten the bowl before any milk spilled out, but her spoon slipped from her fingers. Luckily Snakes Eyes, sitting with Scarlett on Nomad's other side, caught it before it hit the floor.

Not that Nomad would've minded if he hadn't; she'd done worse than eat off the mess hall tiles.

Spiders…Outback still had to pay for that one…

She gave Snake Eyes a wary glance as he gave the spoon a theatrical shine on his black outfit and plopped it back into her bowl, but if he noticed her expression he gave no sign.

Taking a seat, Nomad peered sneakily around the table, and was relieved to see that nobody was looking at her any differently than usual. She'd thought about avoiding the mess hall for breakfast; she'd been so worried that the others had found out what Lowlight had said and would make a fuss. But nothing had been any different. And in any case, Dusty was sitting directly opposite her and he hadn't said anything yet - if he'd known, he certainly would've said something by now, or at least given her a wink, or something.

She felt a tap on her elbow, and turned to see Snake Eyes gesturing to her cornflakes. Right…she hadn't started eating yet. *Something on your mind?* he asked, holding his palms up innocently when he finished signing.

Nomad dribbled milk down her chin and shot him a look. Damn ninja…she could just picture him grinning beneath that mask. "Shut up," she muttered. Glancing around, she saw that Covergirl had bought her lie and was now chatting to Steeler - something about the tanks - and Scarlett was getting up to go get some more toast, so she took the opportunity to lean close to Snake Eyes. "If you've told anyone other than Lifeline, I _will_ kill you. I don't know how, but I _will_ find a way."

Snake Eyes slowly turned in his seat, squaring his shoulders to her, and tipped his head menacingly. It took everything Nomad had to not edge away from him - or bolt from the room.

She was just thinking that maybe she'd gone too far when his shoulders started shaking with laughter and he shook his head. *Just for that, you're stuck with Short Fuse this afternoon.*

Nomad sighed, throwing her hands up and rolling her eyes. "Why do I even bother?"

* * *

><p>She avoided Lowlight as much as was inconspicuously possible that day. Just the thought of having to talk to him - to try and explain what was going through her mind - made her feel sick with nerves. What if she tried to talk to him, and he'd changed his mind? What if her reaction had put him off? As much as his words scared her, she didn't want him to take them back.<p>

How selfish was _that_? How could she expect him to…feel that way for her…when he wasn't sure she returned it?

God, she was such a _bitch_.

At least Lowlight was busy for most of the day; he had greenshirts to train on the firing range. Apparently, there was going to be a final training mission for them in the very near future, which would determine which of them would make the cut and become Joes.

Still, that didn't stop him catching her eye at lunch and giving her a small smile. She gave him a short nod, feeling guilty, took her plate and hurried outside.

Yeah…because _that_ didn't make it obvious that something had happened between them. Nomad was pretty sure she sensed several puzzled stares directed at her retreating back.

Then again, she could have been imagining it. Nobody had asked about it, yet - apart from Covergirl's question that morning at breakfast - and that was something. It wasn't like Nomad's friends were exactly subtle; if Clutch had any inkling of what'd happened, he'd be grilling her about it incessantly.

In any case, by the time it came to hand-to-hand, Snake Eyes seemed to have taken pity on her. Instead of partnering her with Short Fuse, as he'd threatened, he paired her off with Tripwire, who fell over his own feet more often than he threw punches.

Unfortunately - or maybe it was Snakes' plan - they were practicing disarming techniques, so half the time Nomad found herself on the floor, disentangling herself from Tripwire's limbs. At one point he fell on top of her, accidentally jabbing her hard in the ribs with his elbow.

Snake Eyes must have thought that was punishment enough, because after that he changed it up, and for the rest of the session Nomad sparred with Gung Ho.

Overall, the day hadn't been _too_ bad, aside from the awkward moment at lunch. Nomad - and the other Joes who'd been in quarantine - had a full day of training, so she was kept busy.

Now, though…now that dinner was finished and the Joes were slowly drifting out of the mess hall…now she was going to have to attempt to get her thoughts in order.

What was she going to do? She'd have to talk to him eventually - had to tell him what he needed to know, before he…

Well, it was too late for that, wasn't it? He'd already told her how he felt.

Nomad eyed the photo that was still facedown on her bedside table. She should've told him before now. She'd left it too long; now it was going to hurt him even more.

"Everything okay?"

Nomad turned her attention to Covergirl. "Yeah," she said, watching the former model watching her suspiciously.

Covergirl's eyes darted to the photo on the table, then to the wall behind Nomad's shoulder. "You sure?"

Nomad nodded. "Yeah," she said again, "just tired." She faked a yawn - which promptly turned into a real one.

The other woman was obviously doubtful, but she let it go. "Okay. Night."

"Night," Nomad replied, slipping between her sheets and turning off her lamp.

She'd give it a few days. That'd give her time to figure out what to say to Lowlight. Then she'd tell him everything.


	18. Chapter 18

Oh my god, what's this? A new chapter? WHAT?

Argh, it's been so long since I last updated...I just haven't had any Joe inspiration at all. I blame The Walking Dead - it's got me hooked on zombies at the moment :D Even cooler, there was a zombie shuffle where I live! Say hello to the Best Dressed Female Zombie - I looked pretty awesome, even if I say so myself :p I scared several children, heh heh heh.

Anyway, I'm not sure if this chapter was worth the wait. It's a little bit angsty, again (sorry! next chapter will have some action, I promise!) I wanted to update, though, because I'm going to South Africa in two days for a five week holiday! Excited! :D It was good to get back to writing Nomad though - I didn't realise how much I missed her. I've been so slack lately.

So, here it is (finally)! Enjoy, and hopefully the next chapter won't take, like, three months to do :S

* * *

><p>They barely saw Airtight at all that week. Every now and then he could be seen in the mess hall, bolting down lunch or dinner - apparently he was exempt from training until he figured out what was going on with the neurotoxin. He'd taken to saying 'No' as soon as he saw Nomad or any of the other Joes who'd gone to the village approaching, anticipating their questions. Doc and Lifeline were working closely with him, trying to determine exactly <em>what<em> the toxin did - apart from liquefying the bodies.

Out of all three men, Lifeline was the one who gave the most information, but what little he _did_ give was barely worth the time it took to convince him to give it. And half the time - Nomad thought he did it on purpose - he'd use words that the rest of the Joes wouldn't understand.

Nomad wasn't the only one who wanted to know what was going on; Duke was getting impatient, too - it was easy to tell by the way he kept sighing each time Airtight, Doc or Lifeline waved him off, shaking their heads. It was almost as if the first shirt had taken their semi-defeat in Africa personally. He trained harder, spent even _more_ time than usual looking over paperwork in his office or the war room. If you were unfortunate enough to be scheduled for training at the same time as Duke, you'd have _him_ on your back urging you to train harder as well as Beachhead.

It got a little annoying - Nomad was scheduled for morning PT, and so was Duke - but she couldn't blame him. It was hard not to wonder if, had they got to the base sooner, they could've saved the villagers. Psyche Out would say they couldn't afford to think that way, but still…the thought was there.

At least - and it was a horrible thing to think, Nomad knew - at least they hadn't known the village would be targeted until it was too late. _Failing_ to prevent something and being _unable_ to prevent something…it was a thin line separating the two, but the line was there just the same. The Joes hadn't known; there'd been nothing they could do.

It just made them more determined to wipe Cobra out.

On the other hand - for a couple of days, anyway - the mission to Africa had taken Nomad's mind off Goldilocks. A man with a grudge against her paled in comparison to a toxic missile that could kill millions.

Still…every time she saw Mutt with his arm in the sling, she felt guilty. She'd made the mistake of telling him that yesterday; he'd growled at her impatiently, told her to stop being stupid…and then said if she _really _wanted to make it up to him, she could pad up and help him train Junkyard. She'd spent the next hour running away from the snarling, slobbering Rottweiler as fast as she could.

Of course, the dog was faster, and each time he caught her he sank his teeth into the padding and dragged her to the ground, whipping his head back and forth violently in an attempt to rip her limb from limb. Then Mutt would call him off, the dog would sit back on his haunches and huff playfully at Nomad as if he hadn't just been trying to eat her, expecting a pat or a treat, and Mutt would haul her to her feet and she'd do it all again.

Nomad wasn't sure who gave a better incentive to run: Junkyard or Beachhead. At least the dog smelled better.

Nevertheless, she always enjoyed helping Mutt train Junkyard; once they were done he always let her spoil the dog, whether it be with treats, a game of fetch or just being overly generous with the hugs and belly rubs. The man always complained, of course, but he never stopped her.

In fact, when she thought about it, Mutt _never_ stopped anyone from spoiling Junkyard. Neither did Law, when it came to his dog, Order - and both men always seemed to show up with their dogs soon after a team had just got back from a mission. The first thing a lot of the Joes did was lean down and give Junk or Order a good scratch behind the ears.

She was pretty sure Mutt and Law knew what the dogs did for the troops. Sometimes it was easier to open up to the dogs than it was to people. Nomad knew that well enough, too. When she'd been in hospital after Goldilocks almost killed her - when she'd been allowed out of her room - Archer had sometimes brought his dog with him when he visited. She'd almost popped her stitches the first time; Archer - a big, broad, menacing looking man - had a tiny, fluffy Pomeranian. It had been the best day she'd had for a long time - Archer helped her onto the sofa and sat beside her, and the dog (aptly named Fizzgig) settled down comfortably between them. It had been nice just to pat the little fluffball, scratch behind her ears and listen to her snuffle contentedly.

"Hey, kiddo."

She glanced up from the screen of the brand new laptop Mainframe had picked up for her a couple of days ago when he'd been off base for the day. "Hey, Jaye. What's up?"

Lady Jaye raised an eyebrow as she pushed the laptop closed. "What's _up_ is that you, me, Scarlett and Covergirl are going to have us a little talk."

Uh oh. This sounded bad. "Uh…about what?" Nomad asked cautiously.

Jaye gave her a look that clearly said, 'oh, you know very well what about'.

Shit. This had to be about Lowlight. It _had_ to be.

Well, she really should have expected it. It'd been a week since Lowlight had said…what he'd said. She'd been on the receiving end of suspicious glances the whole time, courtesy of Covergirl. It was a wonder she'd lasted so long without getting the third degree.

Still…it was worth trying to get out of it. "Jaye, I don't -"

The buxom brunette waved Nomad's protests away. "Come on," she said firmly.

"Oh, alright," Nomad said with a sigh. Leaving her iPod hooked up to the computer to sync, she placed both devices on the scarred coffee table in front of the rec room couch. Hopefully, it'd be safe there, but there were no guarantees; Wildcard was back from wherever he'd been posted.

"Good girl."

Nomad followed Jaye out into the corridors and to the personnel elevator. Jaye pressed the button for the surface, and they stood in silence until the doors slid open again.

Nomad followed the other woman to the PX Snack Bar, where Scarlett and Covergirl were sitting at a table by the window.

"Hi, Percy," Nomad said, nodding absently to the man as she passed him. He nodded back warily - they weren't friends, but she'd seen him often enough during her visits to the Snack Bar when she'd been trying to exile herself to warrant a polite greeting.

Scarlett pushed back a chair with her foot, glancing questioningly at Jaye. "She give you any trouble?"

"No trouble at all," Jaye answered, grinning.

"Huh. Surprising."

"I'm right _here_," Nomad pointed out, rolling her eyes as she took a seat. "Get on with it."

Scarlett opened her mouth as Jaye sat down, but Covergirl beat her to it. "Fine. What. The. _Hell_. Is going on with you and Lowlight?"

Nomad had thought she'd prepared for it - braced herself well enough.

Apparently not. "I…uh - it's…" She stumbled for words. "He…"

Lady Jaye, Covergirl and Scarlett were all staring at her. Covergirl looked frustrated - it must've really been eating her, not knowing what had happened.

Nomad sighed and looked out the window. She could see Zap and Grunt hanging around out the front of Garage 3. Zap was lounging on a crate of some kind - that man could find something to sit on _anywhere_.

But she was stalling.

"He said…he loves me," she said quietly.

The reaction would've been funny, if she hadn't felt so conflicted about it. Covergirl let out a squeak, pressing her hands to her mouth and sitting back quickly in her seat. Scarlett nodded, as if she'd guessed something along those lines. Lady Jaye flung an arm around Nomad's neck.

"Finally!" Covergirl exclaimed, clapping her hands in delight. "Nomad, that's great!"

She kept her eyes fixed on Zap and Grunt. She could sense the confusion around the table.

"That's _not_ great?" the former model asked hesitantly. "Why is that not great?"

"It…I don't know," Nomad admitted. "I don't…" She scowled, unable to think of a way to explain. At least, no way to explain that didn't involve telling them…well, _everything_.

Eventually she _would_ tell them everything. Just…not yet. Not until she'd told Lowlight.

Lady Jaye clicked her fingers in front of Nomad's face. "You okay?"

She nodded.

"So, what's the damn problem?" Covergirl insisted exasperatedly.

Nomad glanced at Scarlett, who gave her a small smile. Maybe, being with Snake Eyes, she understood better than the other two; understood why Nomad was so hesitant.

"I don't…know _why_. I don't _get_ it," she admitted finally, and was surprised at how much lighter she felt.

Jaye rolled her eyes, but spoke gently. "Trust me, kiddo, you don't _need_ to 'get' it."

"But I -" Nomad began, although she didn't know exactly what she was going to say.

Scarlett nodded again. "She's right. Just go with it."

Nomad bit her lip thoughtfully. If only it were that easy, to just…_give_.

Covergirl nudged her. "So, what'd _you_ say?" she pressed, grinning broadly.

The question jolted Nomad from her thoughts. "I…" She trailed off guiltily, looking down at the tabletop. "Nothing. I ran off."

The other woman swore. "_Nomad_!"

Her temper flared briefly, then subsided. "He just sprung it on me! I wasn't ready for it; what was I _supposed_ to say?"

"The general response to 'I love you' is 'I love you, too'," Covergirl explained. "Usually followed by making out."

"Yeah, well," Nomad said lamely, "it's not that easy for me. There's still some stuff I need to work out."

"Like what?"

"Stuff," Nomad said, giving her roommate a fierce look.

Covergirl opened her mouth, then shut it again and nodded reluctantly. "Alright," she said.

They fell silent for a minute or so. Nomad absently traced the scratches on the table with her fingernails.

It was Lady Jaye who broke the silence. "So, what're you gonna do? You can't leave him hanging."

Nomad shrugged. "I don't know. I don't know what to say." With a wry grin, she held up a finger before Covergirl could say anything.

"Well, you need to talk to him," Scarlett said firmly. "Trust me."

"I _know_, I know," Nomad groaned. She stood up, declaring the meeting over. "I already feel like a bitch, don't make it worse."

Covergirl pointed at her as she turned to leave. "You and me aren't done," she warned.

Nomad chuckled quietly. "Alright, alright."

* * *

><p>She headed for the mess hall where - according to the large, neat, round handwriting on the fluoro pink Post-It note stuck to the lid of her laptop - Jeckle was holding Nomad's iPod hostage.<p>

The diminutive Joe was dancing around the big room, depositing salt and pepper shakers on the many tables. The white earphones trailed down the inside of her shirt and into her pocket; when she saw Nomad, she grinned cheekily and brazenly flourished the mp3 player as she shimmied around. She moved easily, switching between what looked like ballet and generic club dancing, with a grace that was almost on par with the ninjas when they were doing their martial arts stuff; she'd obviously had lessons at some stage. Behind the food prep bench, Roadblock was watching her with his arms crossed over his massive chest, reminding Nomad of a clucky mother hen. Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll were also watching appreciatively from a table nearby.

As she wandered over to the table where the grease monkeys were sitting, Nomad felt a brief stab of jealousy at how easy Jeckle made it look. Nomad's mother had enrolled her in ballet classes once, when she was about six years old, probably in some attempt to make her less tomboyish…or possibly hoping that maybe it would be something they could bond over.

It hadn't worked. Nomad had hated ballet, and after four lessons had simply refused to go. She'd never been graceful.

Jeckle twirled her way over to their table, set the last salt and pepper shakers down, then grabbed a chair, spun it and perched herself on it coquettishly, tugging the earphones from her ears. She looked at Nomad. "You know, you _really_ need to widen your taste in music."

Nomad frowned. "What's wrong with my taste in music?" she asked.

The other woman rolled her eyes, pulled the iPod from her pocket and placed it on the table. "Because all you had on this is angry old rock music!"

"Angry old -" Nomad shook her head indignantly, staring open-mouthed. She glanced across the table to Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll, who looked similarly outraged - they both knew and agreed with Nomad's taste in music. In fact, they'd introduced her to some of the stuff she liked. "That's _classic_ rock, thank you very much."

Jeckle waved a hand dismissively. "Alright, alright. But really? Metallica? Guns 'n' Roses? AC/DC?" She paused. "And who the hell are Rammstein?"

"Oh, so what kind of music do _you_ like, then?" Rock 'n' Roll asked, leaning forward. Clutch nodded, approving of the question. Nomad just chuckled quietly.

Jeckle grinned, pushing her chair back and stretching her leg out to him over the table in a move that would've been sexy had she not been wearing fatigues and combat boots. "Anything you can dance to," she said sweetly.

Apparently, the guys found the move sexy, fatigues and boots and all. Clutch swallowed. "Man, how'd Shipwreck get so lucky?" he asked.

Jeckle grinned and put her foot back on the floor.

Something suddenly clicked. Nomad turned to the other woman. "What do you mean, angry old rock music's all I _had_?"

Jeckle swung off the chair and snatched up the iPod again. "Oh…I may have added some songs to your iPod while you left your laptop all defenceless and on its own."

"What songs?" Nomad pressed warily, raising an eyebrow.

"Just some of mine."

Nomad eyed the mp3 player, then looked back at Jeckle. The other woman smiled innocently…and at exactly the same time, they both made a grab for it.

Jeckle was too quick. She snatched the iPod off the table and smirked triumphantly at Nomad. "Ahah! I'll get this back to you later, okay?"

Sighing in resignation, Nomad nodded.

"Awesome." Jeckle skipped away, stuffing the earphones back into her ears. She was already halfway across the mess hall when she let out an excited, "Ooh, I _love_ this song!"

Nomad almost choked as she watched Jeckle stop Deep Six from walking straight past her, dancing up to him and grabbing his hands, trying to make him dance, too. The bewildered look that briefly crossed the surly deep-sea diver's face was just too funny - Jeckle actually managed to lift his arm so she could spin underneath before he shook her off and hurried to his seat at the far end of the room, shaking his head.

Laughing, Jeckle ducked back behind the food prep bench, still jigging around. Nomad wondered what song she was listening to.

"_I'm sexy and I know it!_"

"That's it," Clutch said sympathetically. "Your iPod is tainted."

Nomad groaned.

* * *

><p>She was just about to leave Clutch, Rock 'n' Roll and Steeler - who'd joined them for lunch - and head off for the training room to meet Scarlett for an extra hand-to-hand class when without warning a heavy hand clamped down on her shoulder.<p>

Nomad was halfway to her feet, cursing, before she noticed the expressions on the mechanics' faces. "It's someone who's gonna kick my ass, isn't it?"

"Not this time," Duke said good-naturedly.

With a sigh of relief - she didn't know why; she was _home_, for fuck's sake - she sank back into her seat. She almost asked him who he was and what he'd done with the real Duke, but she wasn't quite on such good terms with him. Instead, she just sat there, looking at him stupidly.

"Hawk wants you in his office," Duke explained.

Across the table, Steeler rolled his eyes at her. "What've you done _now_?"

"_Nothing_!" Nomad said, a little more defensively than she intended. She blushed slightly, then tried to cover the pang of anxiety with a grin. "Uh…have I?" she asked, tilting her head back up to meet the first shirt's bright blue eyes hopefully.

Duke pulled her chair - with her still on it - away from the table. "Hawk told me you might jump to the wrong conclusion," he said, offering a wry smile. "He told me to tell you you're _not_ in trouble."

Clutch crossed his arms on the table and leaned forward. "So you know what he wants?" he asked.

Duke nodded.

"Well?"

Nomad rolled her eyes. Trust Clutch to be more curious about it than she was.

"I'm sure Nomad'll tell you later," Duke said, "when she gets sick of you asking about it."

"Damn straight she will," Clutch agreed, looking pointedly at her.

She got to her feet. "Fine," she conceded. "Duke, can you go to the training room and tell Scarlett I'll be late? I was supposed to have a hand-to-hand -"

"I'll tell her," he said with a nod. "Get moving."

Nomad racked her brain as she hurried through the corridors toward Hawk's office. Duke had said she wasn't in trouble, yet she couldn't help but feel apprehension beginning to bubble up in her gut. Hawk did that to her; she didn't exactly have the best track record when it came to being summoned to his office.

But…she hadn't _done_ anything. So…maybe he had a new mission for her?

No - it couldn't be a mission so soon after the last couple. When he could, Hawk gave the Joes time to recuperate, and there were plenty of other Joes who could go on a mission right now. It wasn't like she was a specialist, or anything - she was just a grunt. Easily replaceable.

Not that she'd refuse a mission. She'd decided a long time ago that she'd do practically anything Hawk asked.

Like, for example…jumping out a window attached to an extension cord held by Beachhead.

Nomad knocked on Hawk's door when she reached it and waited until he called her in. Upon opening the door, though, she saw somebody she didn't know already sitting opposite her general. "Oh…uh…sorry, sir, I thought I heard you -"

"Nomad." Hawk nodded to her. "Close the door."

"Yes, sir." She promptly backed out of the office, pulling the door shut as she did.

"Nomad."

She heard the other man chuckling as Hawk called her name again, this time sounding a little exasperated. "Sir?"

He beckoned her in. Eyeing the other man warily (but trying not to be _too_ obvious about it), Nomad stepped inside. He was older, with dark skin and black hair that was going grey. He had stars on his shoulders, and the dress greens stretched over his belly said he saw more action in an office these days than in the field.

She stood at attention just inside the door, her heart now beating fast. What the hell was going on? Who was this other general? She couldn't remember doing anything warrant anything official; why had _she_ been called into -

Her breath caught in her throat. Had they found Goldilocks?

No...it couldn't be that, could it? Hawk had told her they wouldn't go after Goldilocks until the business with the neurotoxins was sorted out.

Then again, that had been before they knew Goldilocks was involved with Cobra.

"Don't look so nervous, Corporal," the second general said, standing.

Hawk also stood. "Nomad, this is General Hollingsworth. He's a good friend of mine."

"Sir," Nomad said, saluting even as she tried to hide her confusion.

Hollingsworth chuckled. "At ease, Corporal," he said lightly. "I was in the neighbourhood, and Hawk here asked me to bring this in for you."

Nomad tensed as he reached into an inner pocket of his jacket. She couldn't help it; it was an automatic reaction. It was ridiculous, though, especially here in the Pit.

If either man noticed, they said nothing. And all Hollingsworth pulled out was a small, black box which he offered to her.

Frowning, she took the box and flipped the lid open…and then she almost dropped it.

Hell…she'd forgotten all about it. Nomad stared at the gleaming silver heart resting on the cushiony suede insert. The soft black material made the purple ribbon seem all the more bright.

She wished Hawk had forgotten about it, too.

"Take a good look at it, Corporal," Hollingsworth said. "It's going straight back to a safe in the Pentagon."

She couldn't very well tell him that she wasn't looking at the medal in admiration or awe, but in some kind of…revulsion? Was that the word? Or was regret the one she was looking for? All the damn thing did was bring everything back; those long hours in the dark room, bound to a chair in her own filth, unable to move as Andy -

But she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked up and caught Hawk's eye.

…And if he didn't know _exactly_ what she was thinking, she'd go become best friends with Short Fuse.

"Thank you, sir," she said politely, only just managing to keep her voice from shaking, and handed the medal back to Hollingsworth. She hadn't looked at it properly, hadn't bothered to turn it over to see if her name was engraved on the back. She honestly didn't care. Let the fucking thing stay in the vault.

Hawk nodded to her. "Dismissed, Nomad."

"Yes, sir," she said gratefully. She snapped off a salute to Hollingsworth - who returned it - and left the room.

Nomad hoped Scarlett was ready for a good workout. She wanted to hit something.

* * *

><p>It turned out to be a long day. First Lady Jaye, Scarlett and Covergirl, then Hawk and Hollingsworth…and, naturally, as soon as she walked back into the mess hall for dinner that night, Clutch and Rock 'n' Roll all but jumped on her, wondering what the general had wanted. By the end of the meal (chicken pie, followed by ice cream with Jeckle's famous hot fudge sauce), the whole room knew she'd finally received her Purple Heart. She accepted the congratulations graciously, not wanting anyone to know how she <em>really<em> felt about it.

She was pretty sure a few of them guessed, though. Clutch kept glancing over at her, as if he'd expected her to blow up the next time someone clapped her on the shoulder. If she'd had a big brother, she was certain he'd watch out for her the way Clutch watched out for her now.

Lowlight hadn't been in the mess hall at all, not even to grab something to eat and run.

Now, Nomad was leaning on one elbow in her bed, just getting ready to put down her book, reach over and switch the light off. From the corner of her eye, she saw Covergirl watching her.

Nomad sighed. "What?" she asked, knowing full well that the former model was going to finish their conversation from earlier.

"Have you figured out what you're gonna say yet?" Covergirl asked.

There was no point playing dumb. "Nope." Nomad paused, then looked up at her roommate. "Am I being stupid?" she asked hesitantly. "I mean…it's just words, right?"

Covergirl shook her head. "It's more than just words, and you know that. Come on; if it was _just_ words, would he have said it?"

She had a point there. "I guess not…"

"Exactly," Covergirl said smugly.

"But…he's only known me a few months," Nomad said. "How can he know if -"

The other woman threw her pillow at Nomad. "What, you don't believe in love at first sight?"

Nomad snorted. "No, I don't. And anyway, it wasn't 'love at first sight'. I'm pretty sure he wasn't too impressed with me that first day on the firing range. And _I_ wasn't too sure about _him_, either."

Covergirl rolled her eyes. "Well, maybe you're soul mates. Meant to be together. Huh? Ever thought of that?"

"I don't believe in that, either."

The stunning woman flapped her arms impatiently. "For fuck's sake, Nomad, you have _got_ to be the most unromantic girl I know. Look, just do me - and yourself - a favour. Don't question it."

"But -"

Covergirl crossed the room in two big steps, grabbed Nomad's shoulders, and shook her. "Look. What you've got with Lowlight is special. If you let it go, I'll have to kick your ass myself. You hear me?"

"But -" she tried again.

"Ah." Covergirl pointed warningly.

Nomad couldn't help but giggle at the look on the model's face. Covergirl smiled in satisfaction. "That's better. Now." She reached across to the bedside table, where the photo of Lowlight still sat facedown. "I think this can go back up on the wall, don't you?"

"I guess it can."

"Why'd you take it down?" Covergirl asked curiously.

Nomad shrugged. "Dunno. I kinda...felt guilty. I couldn't stand seeing him smiling at me, when I just ran out on him." She took the photo and looked at it intently before sticking it back in its place on the wall. Then she turned back to Covergirl. "Um...how do I know?" she asked shyly.

"Know what?" Covergirl wondered.

"If I…you know."

Covergirl raised a perfect eyebrow.

Dammit, she was going to have to say it. "If I…_love_ him?"

For a moment, the bombshell looked astonished. "What do you mean, how do you know?"

"Well, it's not like I've ever…you know, been in love, or anything."

Covergirl stared.

"I haven't!" Nomad said defensively. It was true. Sure, she'd had boyfriends…but she'd never believed she was in love with any of them.

"You really are clueless, aren't you?" Covergirl asked affectionately, shaking her head in disbelief. Then her expression turned thoughtful. "Well, could you be happy if Lowlight wasn't in your life?"

Nomad frowned. She'd never thought of it that way. And when she_ did_ put it that way, the answer was simple: no. She'd already felt what it would be like without Lowlight when she'd resigned; she'd missed him. Some days, she'd missed him so much that her chest had actually hurt.

…No. Not her chest. Her heart. Some days, she hadn't even wanted to get out of bed.

So…did that mean she -

No. It couldn't. "There's got to be more to it than that," she said stubbornly.

"Not really," Covergirl said gently.

Nomad refused to believe it. "No, there _must_ be more to it," she insisted. "How did you know with Beach?"

The gorgeous blonde chuckled. "Now _there's_ a story in itself, but we're talking about _you_ now, so don't try and change the subject."

"Fine, Psyche Out," Nomad muttered.

Covergirl grinned. "Let me make it easier for you. Just look me in the eyes and tell me you _don't_ love Lowlight."

"What? But -"

Covergirl waited, arching an eyebrow and drumming her fingers impatiently on her crossed arms.

Nomad opened her mouth. It _would_ have been easier. It _would_ have got Covergirl off her back, would've shut them _all_ up.

…It also would have been a lie. And she couldn't lie to Covergirl - or any of the Joes.

She looked at her hands, blushing bright red. "I…can't do that."

"Then maybe you need to consider the other option," Covergirl pointed out, crossing back to her own bed and hopping in. "Seems to me like you already know the answer, though. And, I gotta say, it's about goddamn time!"

Nomad lay awake thinking about that for a long time.

* * *

><p>By the next morning, she'd made up her mind. This was it: today was the day she was going to talk to Lowlight. She'd tell him everything he needed to know - everything she should've told him before he'd decided how he felt.<p>

And if he changed his mind…well, so be it.

Still…Nomad was nervous. She barely ate any of the pancakes that Roadblock stacked onto her plate for breakfast. Dusty made sure they didn't go to waste, though - at least she got a slight giggle out of him dripping blueberry syrup down his chin. He shrugged and swiped his face carelessly with his sleeve. He didn't have his warpaint on yet; Nomad didn't think she'd ever get used to seeing Dusty with a clean face.

One good thing about this morning - something that proved promising - was that Kismet had joined them for breakfast. She was sitting between Dusty and Footloose, and while she was still quiet as a mouse, Footloose seemed to be doing quite well at getting her to smile. For some reason, it reminded Nomad a little of _Benny and Joon_. It was kind of cute.

Nomad was scheduled for a session on the firing range later that day. She'd thought about waiting until then, maybe catching Lowlight after and going for a walk, or something…but then she'd decided she couldn't wait that long. If she waited until that afternoon, she'd have too much time to think about it - she'd probably end up talking herself out of it. Sci-Fi had said something yesterday about an NV session, as well; but so soon after the mine fiasco, she didn't think it'd be anything too serious. Probably just a game - a few Joes in teams, maybe, just to let off some steam.

Speaking of Sci-Fi: there he was, just leaving. Nomad quickly excused herself and jogged to catch up with him. "Sci-Fi! Hey, wait for me!"

He glanced over his shoulder and slowed down. "Morning," he said, smiling. "You heading up top for PT, too?"

She shook her head. "No, I still do the early shift. Gets it over and done with. I have hand-to-hand soon." Nomad paused as he nodded, then went on. "I just wanted to ask if you've seen Lowlight around," she said. "I need to talk to him, but he wasn't in the mess hall this morning or last night. Was he on the range, or what?"

Sci-Fi looked at her sharply. "He didn't tell you?"

Nomad frowned. "Apparently not. Tell me what?"

The laser gunner shifted uncomfortably, looking like he'd rather be somewhere else. As they reached the personnel elevator, he reached out and jabbed the button repeatedly, as if pressing it more would make the lift arrive quicker.

"Tell me _what_, Sci-Fi?" Nomad repeated impatiently. Sci-Fi's expression made her regret her tone instantly - he looked like a puppy who'd just been scolded for being naughty. "Sorry," she said.

The laser gunner waved her apology away, giving her a look she couldn't read. "I can't believe he didn't tell you," he muttered, almost to himself.

"Seymour P. Fine, I swear if you don't -" she began.

"Nomad," he said quietly, "Lowlight left on a mission yesterday afternoon."


	19. Chapter 19

Haha! Hi! I'm back! Finally!

Argh, I know it's been freakin' AGES since I last updated this one...I've been so slack lately, I haven't written ANYTHING. Good thing the new Joe movie came out...I went and saw it, and got motivated :) I didn't think it was too bad :D

I had a lot of trouble with this chapter, which is mainly the reason I took MONTHS to get it finished. In the end, I just kinda figured to hell with it, what I've got will do. So it's a little bit jumpy, not the best I've written...but it's up. And I have some ideas, which is more than I've had in a little while...

So anyway, sorry for keeping everyone waiting, thanks for being patient, and I hope it's not too disappointing, considering the wait :)

* * *

><p>Nomad stared. The only thing she could think of to say was, "He what?"<p>

"Yeah," the laser gunner answered. Then he added quickly, "I don't think it's anything big, though."

Again, her brain failed to supply her mouth with words. "Oh," she said, sounding stupid even to herself.

The lift door slid open. Nomad and Sci-Fi stepped aside as several greenshirts, Muskrat and the burly Tollbooth, who usually manned the Joes' heavy-armoured bridge-laying vehicle, filed out. Sci-Fi entered the lift and held his finger on the 'Open Doors' button. "He really didn't tell you?"

Nomad shook her head.

Sci-Fi shifted again. "Hey, look…I dunno what happened with you two -" He held his hand up to cut Nomad off as she opened her mouth, "but I'm sure he would've told you if he could've. Maybe he just didn't have time. Right?"

"Uh…right," Nomad said, forcing a small smile as she nodded. "That's probably it."

Sci-Fi clearly wasn't satisfied. "So…um…is everything okay? I mean, with you and him?"

"Yeah, everything's fine," she said quickly. She wasn't exactly sure if it was a lie or not. Either way, it didn't sound very convincing. but Sci-Fi took it for what it was - an excuse for him not to have to hear about it. "Oh, well, that's alright then," he said awkwardly. "Sooo…" He very obviously fished around for something else to say. "You still up for the NV tonight?"

That's right; there was a game of paintball going on in the trenches tonight. She'd forgotten about that. "Sure," she answered, again a little too quickly. "Why not?"

Sci-Fi grinned. "Awesome. You can be on my team. We've got Outback and Spirit as well; we'll kick ass."

"Sounds like a plan."

The laser gunner punched her affectionately on the arm, all awkwardness forgotten. He never dwelled on stuff like that for very long. Nomad backed away, and he let the doors slide shut.

Nomad leaned against the wall, biting her lip and - while she had a few moments alone - allowing her dismay to show. It felt like her heart had sunk right down into her stomach.

Why hadn't Lowlight told her he was going somewhere? It wasn't like they were _fighting_, exactly. They just…weren't really talking.

…And why was that_?_

Because she'd fucked up.

_Again_.

Well, maybe Sci-Fi was right. Maybe Lowlight _had_ been in a hurry to go and just hadn't had the time to tell her. Or maybe he hadn't been able to find her.

So why hadn't he left a message with someone?

Maybe he'd already changed his mind about her. Snake Eyes had warned her not to make him wait too long. What if she'd missed her chance?

Nomad sniffed and rubbed a hand over her face. Then another thought hit her.

What if Lowlight _hadn't_ changed his mind, and something happened, and she didn't get the chance to talk to him?

No. That wasn't worth thinking about. That was a 'what if', and Psyche-Out had drilled her about those far too many times.

Still -

No. No, Lowlight was coming back, and when he did, she was going to tell him everything. She'd worked it all out last night; she had her little speech all planned out. This was just…an unexpected setback.

Nomad pushed off the wall. Sci-Fi was right; it was probably nothing serious. If it was, the sniper would've told her, whether he was angry with her or not. Hell, the way news travelled in the Pit, she would've heard about a big mission by now anyway. If there was one. So she had nothing to worry about.

Right?

* * *

><p>"Well, you're getting better," Scarlett said, wiping the sweat from her face with her towel.<p>

Nomad looked up at the redhead from the floor where she'd sprawled out to catch her breath. "I'm getting better, _but_…?"

Scarlett grinned. "No but. Just you're getting better. Slowly."

"Huuuh," Nomad groaned, patting her battered body down. "It doesn't feel like it. You know, I think you're only saying that so I don't just quit."

Chuckling, Scarlett offered her hand to pull Nomad to her feet. "If it makes you feel any better - don't tell him I told you this - but Tommy thinks you've gotten better, too."

"Really?"

Scarlett held her fingers an inch apart. "A little bit."

"Oh, of course. He couldn't be _too_ generous." Nomad grinned as she grabbed her water bottle and towel and started to wander toward the door.

The redhead grabbed her gear and followed. "So, you're on Sci-Fi and Outback's team tonight?"

"And Spirit, too. Apparently we're going to…I believe Sci-Fi's words were 'kick ass'."

"Not if I can help it," Scarlett retorted. "We've got Dusty, Beachhead -"

Nomad groaned again. "Oh, crap…"

"- and Psyche Out."

"Psyche Out? Really?"

Scarlett nodded. "Uh huh. You might find it hard to believe, but even _he_ likes to get out of his office sometimes."

Nomad groaned. No doubt the shrink would find some way to get into her head even during his time off.

* * *

><p>Reloading her paintball gun, Nomad crawled forward and rolled silently into the trench, landing lightly on her feet. A moment later, Outback dropped down beside her, grinning broadly at her before slinking away and disappearing around a corner.<p>

Nomad had to admit; she was enjoying herself, too. It had been a while since she'd got out on the range in the dark. It was nice just to have a bit of fun, especially after the last couple of missions.

She'd almost even forgotten about Lowlight.

Almost.

She pressed herself back against the dirt wall of the trench as a small movement caught her attention - somebody creeping past the intersection to her left. There was no need for night vision gear tonight - as it wasn't a proper training run, the floodlights that lit the base had been left on. It actually created an entirely different environment than being in full darkness - the floodlights cast deep shadows into some of the trenches while brightly illuminating others.

Nomad waited a few more seconds before moving, her combat boots making no sound at all on the ground. Here, it was hard packed dirt - in other places, the trench floor was covered in gravel that crunched, or fine sand that made it hard to run. Sometimes they were flooded with water, but that wasn't very often, because the drainage wasn't too good.

Peeking around the corner, she saw her target hugging the trench wall, keeping to the shadows. It didn't do much - Psyche Out hadn't covered his blonde hair. None of them had bothered much with camouflage; Outback was wearing his white shirt, the one that had 'SURVIVAL' emblazoned across the chest. Nomad herself was wearing a black tank top - it wasn't like she had many colours in her wardrobe to choose from, as Lady Jaye had pointed out disapprovingly on many occasions - but as Sci-Fi had pointed out her arms were almost as white as Outback's t-shirt anyway. Her tan from Hawaii had faded quickly.

Nomad and Outback weren't the only ones who stood out, though - somewhere in the trenches was a third team, put together by Jeckle when she heard there was 'a fun game of paintball' going on, and she was wearing fluoro green shorts, multicoloured runners (which, she added proudly, had glow-in-the-dark bits on them) and a tie-dyed t-shirt she'd borrowed from Footloose. Oddly enough, the outfit kind of suited her.

Psyche Out paused. Nomad drew back as he looked over his shoulder - she wasn't in the right position to shoot him without putting herself in full view of anyone else who might turn into that stretch of trench. She wasn't taking this seriously…but that didn't mean she wanted to get shot. Ever since Sci-Fi had shot her in the ass that time, she'd had to put up with light-hearted wisecracks whenever she had a paintball gun in her hands.

Besides, it'd do Psyche Out good to feel a little uneasy. Damn shrink had done it to her enough times, she was due some payback.

She stayed a few seconds behind him, stalking him through the maze. Every now and then she heard the pop of the others' paintball guns. She was sure Psyche knew he was being followed - he was too clever not to know.

Glancing around a corner, she quickly ducked back as she caught sight of Beachhead peering cautiously into the trench she was walking in; luckily, he was looking the other way, watching Psyche Out's back. As much as she wanted to, Nomad couldn't shoot the big Ranger in the head. She wanted to live.

She also had no doubts that Beach probably wanted to shoot her as much as she wanted to shoot him. Sure, he got to run her into the ground in PT, but as if he'd pass up the chance to actually _shoot_ her.

Nomad hoisted herself up out of the trench and flattened herself to the ground, glancing around before slithering toward Beachhead's position, using the small stack of tyres nearby as cover. There were several blinds dotted around the trenches - stacks of tyres, camouflage nets…anything that could be used as cover, yet still could be moved around easily.

"Cosy, ain't it?"

Nomad almost fell back into the trench in surprise. "Son of a - Sci-Fi?" she hissed, squinting.

Right beside her, in the shadow of the tyre stack, the corner of a camo net twitched slightly. "Son of a Sci-Fi," the laser gunner murmured thoughtfully. "Is that an insult?"

"Totally." Nomad rolled beneath the net beside him. "I didn't even see you there."

"That's the whole point."

She elbowed him. "The _point_ is to have fun."

"This _is_ fun." Sci-Fi gestured toward the corner that Beachhead was still hovering around. "Got my eye on him. Psyche Out's not far ahead, either."

"I know. You can have Beach, but the shrink's mine."

"Deal. Go get 'im, Tiger."

"Take Beach out first."

Sci-Fi grinned mischievously. "You just don't want _him_ to get _you_."

"Yeah, pretty much."

With a smirk, Sci-Fi shifted his aim ever so slightly, breathed out, and squeezed the trigger.

Nomad waited just long enough to snigger at the gruff cursing coming from Beachhead's direction, then clapped Sci-Fi on the shoulder and rolled back into the trench.

She didn't worry about being cautious until she reached the Ranger. He was leaning against the trench wall, rubbing his broad chest where Sci-Fi's paintball had hit.

"What're you smirkin' at?" he growled.

She didn't bother trying to keep the smug tone from her voice. "Shush. Dead people don't talk."

He took a half-hearted swing at her (which, had it connected, probably still would have dazed her). She ducked under his arm, chuckling, and jogged away, leaving him muttering something about smartasses to her back.

She found Psyche Out a few minutes later, heading toward the western fence of the base. She tailed him for a little while - she couldn't stop herself from grinning in satisfaction when he began to look a little unsettled.

Still…she felt a little mean.

But only a little.

Raising her rifle, Nomad deliberately kicked a clod of dirt along the trench. Psyche Out spun fast, but not fast enough - a splat of green appeared on his shoulder before he could lift his gun.

With a sigh, the shrink sat down on the ground. "I should've known it'd be you," he said, grinning wryly at her.

"Why?"

"Because I doubt anyone else on the range tonight wants to shoot me as much as you do."

"That's probably true," she agreed, strolling over to him. "But really, you should've exp -"

"Hold it right there."

Nomad winced, then groaned as she turned to see Jeckle looking down at her, crouched on the lip of the trench. Despite her brightly coloured clothes, she looked slightly alarming - apparently, she'd gathered 'trophies' from the Joes she'd shot; Scarlett's wristbands, Dusty's goggles, Spirit's bracelet. She also had Outback's green headband on. It made her shaggy hair stand up in all directions, adding to the bandit-ish look. The sleeves of Footloose's tie-dyed t-shirt were rolled up to her shoulders, the rest of it was gathered and knotted at her waist - otherwise, the hem probably would have reached her knees.

Jeckle gestured to Nomad's rifle. "Drop it, please."

Curious to see where the diminutive Joe would go from here, Nomad didn't move. From the corner of her eye, she saw Psyche Out grin. No doubt he was psychoanalysing both of them.

"I said drop it." Jeckle's voice would have sounded dangerous, if not for the slight shake of suppressed laughter.

"Or what?" Nomad pressed, also trying hard not to laugh,

Jeckle sighed and rolled her eyes. Then she lowered her gun and fired a paintball into Nomad's thigh.

"Ow! Hey!" Nomad swore, clapping a hand to her leg and limping around a bit. Psyche Out sniggered; she kicked him gently with her boot. "You shut up, shrink."

"Now, are you gonna drop the gun?" Jeckle pressed.

Nomad turned and went to bring her rifle up. Jeckle fired another shot, this time into Nomad's other thigh.

Playing along, Nomad staggered and hit the ground beside Psyche Out. "Alright, alright," she said, throwing her paintball gun aside and peering up at the other woman. "You got me."

Jeckle grinned in genuine delight and bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. "Really? We won? That was easy. Jeez, Nomad, I thought you were tougher than that."

"I am," Nomad replied with a grin. "I just happen to like you, that's all. Think yourself lucky."

Jeckle stuck her tongue out. "Hey, 'Wreck!"

As the other woman waved to Shipwreck, somewhere out of sight, Nomad flung herself sideways over Psyche Out and grabbed his gun out of his hands. Before she could squeeze the trigger, though, a paintball pellet slammed into her chest, covering her in Jeckle's favourite bright green paint.

"And now you're dead," Jeckle sighed. "Too bad, Nomes. I really didn't want to have to do that."

Laughing and shaking her head, Nomad leaned back on her elbows. "_Sure_ you didn't."

Psyche Out patted her shoulder. "Nice try, though."

Jeckle pointed at him. "Shush. You're dead."

He held his hands up. "Sorry."

"You are forgiven."

A shadow fell across them as Shipwreck appeared on the opposite side of the trench. He smiled broadly across at Jeckle, obviously proud of her. "Well, looks like we win," he gloated.

Jeckle smiled sweetly at him. "Uh…_we_, Shipwreck?"

The sailor's expression turned to one of confusion. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry, Shipwreck," Jeckle said dramatically, "but these trenches are only big enough for one of us." Without warning, she raised her paintball gun and shot Shipwreck square in the chest.

The sailor clutched at his heart. "Jeckle…how could you?" he gasped, falling to his knees. "I thought…we were…a team."

"Meh. I lied," she said with a shrug. "And now, these trenches are _mine_! Bwahahaha!"

"I…don't think…so!" Shipwreck whipped his own gun up and pulled the trigger.

Jeckle gasped, staggering backwards and touching her fingers to the bright paint blending into the belly of her trippy t-shirt, her eyes wide. "Nooooo!" She fell flat on her back, making gurgling noises and twitching.

Nomad glanced across at Psyche Out, who looked like he was trying to hold back his laughter as much as she was. "Who needs movies?"

Jeckle lifted her head. "Oi. Not done yet!"

"Oh. Sorry, Jeck."

The other woman grinned cheekily, flapped her arms and legs one last time, and lay still. "Okay, now I'm done."

Psyche Out rolled his eyes and gestured to Shipwreck, now lying on his belly with his head in his hands. "She learns from the best," he muttered to Nomad.

Jeckle sat up abruptly. "So…how 'bout we call it a draw?"

* * *

><p>Still towelling her hair dry, Nomad pushed open the mess hall door, ready to get her coffee fix for the night before parking her ass in front of the TV in the rec room, and stopped in her tracks. There was somebody sitting at one of the tables in the middle of the room, his back to her.<p>

For a moment she thought it was Lowlight, and her heart skipped a beat. Then she looked again. "Ripcord?"

The sandy-haired man started a little, turning in his seat. "Oh…hey, Nomad. How was the paintball game?"

Nomad grinned, heading for the coffee machine. "Oh, you know…I got to take out Psyche, Jeckle killed everyone, stole their stuff and then killed off her own team before being shot by a betrayed Shipwreck…the usual. How come you're up so late? You're _never_ up this late if you can help it."

Ripcord gave her a small grin, then shook his head, declining her offer of coffee as she held up a mug. "Ah, just thinking. It's nice to have the place to yourself every now and then."

She chuckled. "True. Though I'm usually here with Lowlight. Or sometimes Bazooka comes and sits with me when he's sneaking a midnight snack." With a full mug of freshly brewed caffeinated goodness, Nomad joined Ripcord at the table.

Uncharacteristically, the usually talkative man said nothing else. He just sat there, looking at something in his hands; Nomad craned her neck to see a heavily creased photo of a pretty blonde woman. Ripcord glanced sideways at her, then handed the photo over.

"Who is she?" Nomad asked. "And…is she wearing a bear suit?"

Ripcord laughed quietly. "Her name was Candy Appel. We kinda had a thing going, a little while ago."

Normally, Nomad would've said something like, 'Candy Appel? _Seriously_?'. But not this time. She'd noticed the use of the 'was'. Past tense. It could mean one of two things, but in a situation like this - in a _place_ like this - she assumed the worst. "Ah, Rip, I'm sorry."

He waved a hand. "It's okay," he said, "don't worry about it. It was years ago."

Nomad nodded awkwardly, not really knowing what else to say and unsure whether to press it, in any case. She was used to being on the _other_ end of the questions - trying to avoid them, rather than ask them. "And…the bear suit?"

Ripcord grinned. "She used to do kids' parties, and stuff. Bongo the Balloon Bear, she was called."

"Bongo."

"Yep."

"The Balloon Bear."

"Uh huh."

Nomad stared into her coffee cup, already half-empty. "So…what happened?"

Ripcord looked at her, and she immediately cursed at herself. "It's none of my business, I shouldn't've -"

He laughed again, this time sounding more like his usual self. "Relax," he said, nudging her with his shoulder. "It's okay. Seriously."

Nomad handed the photo back to him. He looked at it for a moment before tucking it into his pocket. "I don't even know if it would've worked out," he said. "I mean, she was a civilian. I couldn't exactly tell her anything. She didn't like that. I guess I couldn't really blame her…I never even told her my real name." Ripcord paused, then grinned gave her a wry grin. "Then again, with a name like Wallace Weems, I suppose that's a good thing, right?"

Nomad grinned back, still feeling a little awkward. "Gotta admit, I do like Ripcord better."

"Turns out her father worked for Cobra Commander," Ripcord continued. "Candy got dragged into it, and…well, you know how it goes, right?"

Nomad sighed. "Yeah, I think I can guess."

"Still, I like to think that maybe if she hadn't…well, maybe we could've worked _something_ out." Ripcord glanced sideways at her. Maybe she wasn't hiding how awkward she felt as well as she thought, because he chuckled again. "And that's my emo moment done for the day."

Nomad drained her coffee and clapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, after all the emo moments everyone's put up with from me, I think you're entitled to one every now and then."

Ripcord stretched his arms out over his head. "Well, this one's done," he said, smiling. "No point worrying about things we can't fix, hey?" He pushed his seat back and stood. "And speaking of done, I think I am for the day, too. Unlike some people around here, I _like_ to sleep."

Nomad turned in her seat, lightly punching his arm as he stood. "Hey, I like sleep. I just can't seem to get the hang of it, that's all."

Ripcord grinned. "Keep trying, Cutie."

"No worries, Sweetheart."

She waited until he was out the door before going to refill her coffee mug. Things that couldn't be fixed…she had a few of those. She wished she was as good at dealing with them as everyone else around here seemed to be. Still…she was doing what she could. She'd be doing a whole lot worse if she wasn't here at the Pit.

But that was enough of that. She was in a good mood after the game, and she wasn't going to let anything bring her down. Not tonight. She wasn't even going to think about what was going to happen when Lowlight got back. And she _definitely_ wasn't going to think about what it would be like if she lost him, like Ripcord lost his girlfriend.

Not at all.

She _was_ lucky, though, wasn't she? That she could tell Lowlight everything?

Well…almost everything. But she'd fix that once he was back. Because that _could_ be fixed.

Unless he'd changed his mind about her.

Nomad sighed in exasperation. So much for not thinking.

* * *

><p>"C4H10FO2P."<p>

Nomad glanced around the War Room surreptitiously, and was happy to see that she wasn't the only one responding to Airtight's announcement with a blank stare. So she _wasn't_ the only one who sucked at science.

The news had come when she'd been having breakfast after PT. Lifeline had hurried into the mess hall and proclaimed that Airtight had finished his tests on the samples he and Doc had taken from the village Cobra had decimated, and a briefing had been scheduled for 0900. Almost immediately, the mood in the mess hall seemed a little brighter; the neurotoxin situation had been weighing on the Joes - and the greenshirts - more heavily than anyone really wanted to admit.

Maybe now, Duke would lighten up a bit.

…Nah, not likely.

"Can we have that again in stupid, please?" Clutch asked, raising his hand and earning himself a few chuckles.

Airtight sighed. "C4H10FO2P. Sarin," he said, as if he was talking to a bunch of five-year-olds. "I assume everyone knows what _that_ is?"

Nomad nodded - she'd heard of sarin gas, the deadly neurotoxin, although she didn't know the exact details. She had the feeling Airtight was going to explain, anyway. Probably using a lot of big words. He did that a lot - not to make everyone else feel dumb, he just tended to get a little carried away when he was talking.

She was right. "Sarin is a nerve agent about five hundred times more toxic than cyanide," Airtight said. "It's an odourless, colourless liquid, usually vaporised for use. Just a tiny concentration of it can be fatal; breathe it, you die. Get it on your skin, you die. Clothing can continue to release the vapours for up to half an hour after the initial contact. Obviously, it affects the nervous system; the victim usually suffocates when the muscles around the respiratory system fail. And it works very, very quickly, inhibiting the enzyme cholinesterase by forming a covalent bond with -"

General Hawk, leaning against the desk at the front of the room, quickly opened his mouth before Airtight could get too scientific. "So, Cobra's neurotoxin missiles are filled with sarin?" He shook his head and scanned the room. "That can't be right. Not if Destro was making as big a deal as what Nomad and Storm Shadow say he was."

Airtight shook his head. "That's the thing," he said. "Normally, sarin works very quickly, sometimes in only a minute. The toxin in Cobra's missiles worked slowly. But the missiles don't just contain sarin - the toxin has the chemical components of sarin _in_ it, but it's not just sarin alone."

"Why would anybody want to make a nerve gas work _slower_?" Hawk wondered, narrowing his eyes. "What's the point?"

Doc, seated in the front row beside Lifeline, shrugged. "For the sheer horror of it?"

"Because they're insane?" Storm Shadow added. For once, Nomad agreed with the ninja.

Hawk nodded to Airtight. "Go on."

The other man nodded, running a hand through his receding hair. "It's actually quite brilliant," he admitted reluctantly. "I think Destro's actually created his own neurotoxin. It's a concentrated dose - extremely potent - which causes paralysis and, after death, rapid cell decomposition. As soon as the toxin is exposed to oxygen, it begins to break down, eventually leaving no trace _at all_. That's why it took so long to get the results. We had to find a way to test the samples properly without them breaking down. We were lucky they lasted as long as they did."

Breaker raised his hand. "But we saw the bodies," he pointed out. "They were still there."

Doc nodded. "Yeah, but they were already starting to liquefy when we got there. A few more hours and there'd be nothing left but black stains in the dirt."

Nomad, remembering the way Doc's hand had broken so easily through the skin of one of the bodies at the village, failed to repress her shudder.

"So Cobra Commander has his very own brand new biological weapon," Hawk said grimly. "And he's got who-knows-how many bases producing them. And by now he knows how well they work."

Doc and Lifeline stood up. "We're already working on developing an antidote," Doc said, gesturing to Airtight. "But…this is big, Hawk. Even if we do find one, I'm not entirely sure it'll help."

"Keep working on it," Hawk said, nodding. "Hopefully, it won't come to that, but we'll take what we can get." His sharp eyes searched the room again. "Mainframe, Dial Tone, Breaker, find Destro's suppliers. We'll send a team to the Extensive Enterprises building if we have to."

Nomad sat up a little straighter. If there was a mission to break into Extensive, she wanted in on it; the company was run by Tomax and Xamot, the twin brothers who were part of Cobra's upper echelon.

They were also the ones who'd attacked her, taking her by surprise in the rainforest of Sierra Gordo, just before Lowlight had been shot. For all she knew, it could've been one of them who'd shot him. And if it was…

"The rest of you," Hawk was saying, "be ready for anything. _Anything_. I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever Cobra Commander's got planned, we're gonna be there to stop him."


	20. Chapter 20

What is this madness? A new chapter?! Whaaat?!

I know, I know...it's been...actually, I can't remember how long it's been, but it's been WAAAAY too long. I haven't forsaken Nomad, I promise...I've just been sidetracked by other stuff...like zombies, and superheroes, and Doctor Who (my friend introduced me to it and I finally realised the goodness I'd been missing out on my entire life) and...stuff.

BUT one of my resolutions this year was to write SOMETHING every day, even if it was just one crappy line, and I started, and I kinda found my Joe inspiration again. So, hopefully, I can finish this off soon, and get cracking on the other unfinished ones I have up.

So this chapter is once again mostly recap, and it's not the greatest. And it's shorter than usual...it's just more to get myself back into the habit of writing and posting stuff. To everyone who reviewed the last chapter, or read the whole thing and reviewed (I don't think I got around to replying to everyone, sorry) thanks, as always.

Anyway, hope you enjoy this new chapter, if there's anyone actually still reading this :)

* * *

><p>Nomad heaved an impatient sigh as she joined the stream of Joes leaving the War Room. Even though she knew it was unreasonable, she'd hoped that once Airtight, Lifeline and Doc had figured out the neurotoxin, there'd be <em>some<em> kind of action. Instead, it looked like there'd be more sitting around - for a short while, at least. Hopefully Mainframe, Dial Tone and Breaker wouldn't take too long to find out who was supplying Destro with the neurotoxin chemicals. After all, how many suppliers of that kind of stuff could there be?

Nomad had no idea. All she knew was that she wanted to be on the mission that took Cobra and their insane plans down.

Although, if she was honest, she'd be surprised if she was chosen to go on any more missions. Duke had pretty much said it before the last one: the only reason she'd gone to the mine was because of her ability to move quickly and quietly in darkness. If it hadn't been for that, she doubted she would've been picked; everyone knew that things had got personal for her since Goldilocks had shown up working for Cobra.

And then there was her run-in with Tomax and Xamot. Everyone knew how _that_ had turned out, and if Hawk, Duke, or Stalker - whoever honchoed the mission to Extensive Enterprises, if there was one - thought there was _any_ chance of her wanting to get some kind of revenge, she was out. All three men had warned her that if her issues impaired her ability to do her job, she'd be gone.

Truth be told, though, she didn't know all that much about Tomax and Xamot. From what she'd read in reports, they mostly concerned themselves with running the business side of Cobra - the funding, the businesses…the pyramid schemes. It was only rarely that they left the safety of their offices…but when they did, they were just as formidable as any other Cobra. Nomad could understand that - they'd managed to sneak up on her in Sierra Gordo without her knowing it, hadn't they?

"Jeez, Nomad, don't look so disappointed."

She glanced around as Lady Jaye came up beside her. "I'm not disappointed," she said, a little too quickly. "I just wish all this wasn't taking so damn long."

"Yeah, you're not the only one," Flint muttered, falling into step on Jaye's other side.

"Hey, we're going as fast as we can," Lifeline said defensively, turning on his heel to walk backwards as he spoke.

"Oh, I wasn't talking about what you guys are doing," Nomad explained. "I mean…this whole thing in general. I _hate_ waiting."

"I know," Lifeline said dryly, "I had to put up with you waiting to heal, remember?"

"That's…" She decided there was no point arguing with him; he did have a point, after all. She settled for a good-natured, "…Shut up."

He rolled his eyes at her before turning down the next corridor with Airtight, no doubt to continue working on the antidote. For a brief moment, Nomad was glad she didn't have that kind of pressure on her - Lifeline, Doc and Airtight (plus their team of greenshirt medics) would be working non-stop until they found something that worked. Airtight already had dark circles under his eyes to rival her own; last time she'd snuck a glance in the window of his lab, his desk had been littered with coffee cups. She made up her mind to go by later; if they were still there, she'd gather them all up and take them back to the mess hall for washing. It was the least she could do.

Jaye grinned and clapped Nomad on the shoulder. "Well, at least now Breaker, Dial Tone and Mainframe know what they're looking for."

Flint nodded. "I just hope if we have to go to the EE building it doesn't end up like last time," he grumbled.

"Last time?" Nomad wondered. "Why? What happened last time?"

Lady Jaye pulled a face. "Ever wondered why I don't like heights?"

"Oooh. That bad, huh?"

Flint chuckled and smiled roguishly at Jaye. "It worked out in the end, though."

"Yes. Yes it did," she replied sweetly.

Given the expression on Flint's face, Nomad decided that now would be a good time to stop listening. "Aaaand I'm going over here now," she said, edging away.

Lady Jaye gave her a dismissive wave, then turned her attention back to Flint.

Nomad glanced at her watch. The meeting had gone for an hour and a half; it was 10.30. She didn't have anywhere to be until after lunch, when she had hand-to-hand. Storm Shadow was taking the session today. At least she wouldn't have to partner Short Fuse - he'd gone on leave a few days ago. Maybe she'd get lucky and get stuck with Tripwire…then she'd just have to stand and watch while he took himself out.

Then again, Stormy hadn't quite forgiven her yet for walking out of his session a few weeks ago…it was a wonder he hadn't tried to demonstrate his ninja 'death touch' on her yet.

Granted, Snake Eyes had forbidden him when he'd first threatened it…but that usually wouldn't stop Stormy.

Nomad was actually a little curious about the death touch. Not that she'd ever tell the ninjas that.

"Yo, Nomad, you headin' upstairs?"

Nomad glanced around to see Rock 'n' Roll poking his hairy head out of the personnel elevator. "Yeah, why not? Got nothing else to do."

* * *

><p>She spent lunch hanging out in the PX Snack Bar - much to the chagrin of Percy, the chaplain's assistant the Joes loved to annoy - with Rocky, Clutch, Steeler, Zap, Grunt and one of the newest greenshirts, a blonde mechanic codenamed Spanner. Nomad didn't know Spanner all that well yet, but she liked her; she had a habit of blurting things out before thinking, ending up with her blushing and stammering. She was also a little clumsy, though not <em>quite<em> on the same hazard level as Tripwire. She was into art - it was common to find her using her phone to take photos of random things she found interesting, so she could draw them in her spare time. Usually it was things nobody else took any notice of; the rainbow on the underside of a CD, the bubbles in a glass of lemonade, a reflection in the back of a spoon. Spanner just seemed to notice little things like that. Every now and then she'd draw one of the Joes or greenshirts, but she rarely showed anyone those. Nomad didn't know why; she'd snuck a peek over Spanner's shoulder in the mess hall once, and her drawing of Short Fuse had been pretty good (despite the bad model).

In any case, Rock 'n' Roll clearly had a crush on the girl. Or at least, Nomad guessed that was why the surfer dude seemed to be a little shy around Spanner; she'd never known him to be shy around anyone else, after all.

Then again, she could be wrong. She didn't exactly have the best track record with that kind of stuff. Hell, to start off with, she hadn't even known Lowlight felt…the way he did.

Well…she didn't exactly know how he felt _now_, did she? Because -

_That's enough_.

"Hey, Nomad, did we ever tell you 'bout the time Stalker killed an alligator with his knife?"

She looked up at Clutch, feeling a little guilty that she hadn't been listening. "Stalker killed what with _what_? Fuck off!"

* * *

><p>The rest of the day was uneventful, as were the next few days - as far as Nomad was concerned, at least. A couple of small teams were sent out on minor missions; she was chosen for neither. She didn't know whether to be relieved or worried - relieved, because secretly she hoped that if any missions to do with the neurotoxin missiles came up, she'd be at the Pit to volunteer; worried, because she wondered if Hawk was sidelining her.<p>

Then again, if Hawk was sidelining her, he'd tell her to her face. That thought was reassuring, in a weird kind of way.

Mainframe, Breaker and Dial Tone were rarely seen away from their computers, save for scheduled training and the occasional meal in the mess hall. The rest of their time was spent searching for Destro's suppliers - and fielding questions from impatient Joes. So far, the only news was that one of the chemicals in the neurotoxin had been bought in Russia. Destro had covered his tracks well, and Mainframe was still working on that lead - as he patiently told Nomad each time she so much as looked at him. Last time - yesterday - he'd turned back to Breaker and said something about getting in touch with the October Guard, whoever they were. Nomad had been about to ask, but Dial Tone had irritably shooed her out of the computer room, loading her arms full of coffee mugs that needed washing.

The guy was lucky Mainframe and Breaker were there. Nomad may just have brained him with Breaker's 'Sarcasm is just one of the services I offer' mug otherwise.

Yeah. She still didn't get along with Dial Tone all that well.

Doc, Lifeline and Airtight were having just about as much luck with their project: the antidote to the neurotoxin. Airtight - who usually took any chance he got to explain something scientific - was uncharacteristically tight-lipped about it, grunting brief answers to questions…if he gave any answers at all. Lifeline, of course, would try to answer as well as he could, but the poor guy just looked so tired. Nomad felt sorry for him…and she couldn't help but wonder if he'd felt the same way for her when she'd first arrived at the Pit.

As for Doc…well, as far as Doc was concerned, the best thing the Joes could do would be to find Cobra Commander and foil his plan before he put it into action.

Ideally, that would happen. Even _more_ ideally, Nomad would be on that team; she wouldn't mind taking a crack at the Commander's shiny metal buckethead.

There were a few other heads she wouldn't mind cracking, too.

Nomad shook her own head and put the book she'd been trying to read back on the bedside table, resting it so it sat like a tent, open at the page she was up to. Then she remembered she'd borrowed the book from Sci-Fi, snatched it up again and glanced around for the scrap of paper she'd been using as a bookmark. Sci-Fi was very protective of his books.

The makeshift bookmark had fallen to the floor. Nomad stuck it between the pages and put the book down again, sighing. She didn't feel like reading - she'd sat down twenty minutes ago, and had only read a few sentences. All those thoughts of the last week or so had distracted her.

But…that wasn't exactly _all_ that was on her mind.

Covergirl had been tiptoeing around the subject for the last couple of days, but hadn't quite been game enough to bring it up. Nomad had almost said something, but in the end, of course, hadn't known what to say.

It wasn't that she was worried, or anything. Well, not really.

Okay, so maybe she was. Just a _little_. But it wasn't like there was anything she could do about it.

All she could do was wait for Lowlight to get back.

Wait, and hope that he hadn't changed his mind.

* * *

><p>Another two days went by without anything happening. On the third, Airtight announced that he <em>may<em> have found something to neutralise at least one of the chemicals in the Cobra missiles. Nomad cheered with the rest of the group of Joes who'd gathered around; Lifeline chimed in that it was still touch-and-go, but still, it was the first good news they'd had in a week. Mainframe hadn't been able to get a hold of his contact in Russia yet - one of the members of the Oktober Guard ('Oktober with a 'K'', Mainframe had told her when he'd had a few minutes to explain…when Dial Tone had been out of the room). Apparently they were the Russian equivalent of G.I Joe; initially, the two teams had been rivals, but an incident in Sierra Gordo - of course it was Sierra Gordo, it was _always_ Sierra Gordo - had changed that.

Looking at them - Doc, Lifeline, Airtight, Mainframe, Breaker and Dial Tone - Nomad once again felt a guilty sense of relief that she didn't specialise in the technology or science departments. The responsibility they - not to mention all their assistants - had, was huge. They all looked like they could sleep for two weeks straight. Lately, Lifeline hadn't even admonished Nomad about the amount of coffee she drank, mostly because he'd been drinking about the same.

On the other hand, she wished she could help. She'd offered several times in the last few days, although it may have been slightly self-serving; she wanted to be doing something, not just sitting around. Lifeline had politely refused, pointing out that she'd most likely get bored. Breaker had laughed at her and basically said, 'thanks, but no thanks'. She'd given Mainframe what she thought to be her most beseeching look, which hadn't got her anything but, 'sorry, kiddo'.

Not that she'd really expected anything else. Both Mainframe and Breaker knew she wasn't good with computers - and also that she found it…difficult…to be in the same room as Dial Tone for an extended period of time.

Still, at least she'd offered, and even though they'd said no, she felt better for it.

The Pit was feeling a little brighter that afternoon; Airtight's news had done everyone some good. Jeckle was making brownies for dessert. The recipe had originally been her friend Heckle's - she didn't make them very often now, since Heckle had been killed. They were saved for special occasions.

…Well, special occasions, and for when the Joes were feeling down in general. Jeckle was a firm believer that chocolate could fix anything.

"Smells good, Jeck," Nomad said as she walked past food prep.

"Tastes better," Jeckle replied, holding out a wooden spoon covered in brownie mixture. "Congratulations, Nomad, you're the lucky winner!" She grinned. "Seriously, take it. If I eat any more I'm gonna be sick."

Laughing, Nomad took the spoon and crossed the room to sit beside Clutch, protesting lightly as he swiped his finger through the batter. He did it again, giving her an innocent look.

She sighed. "Alright, alright, you win. You can have that side; I'm not touching it after you have."

"Oh, that hurts."

She raised her finger at him. He did it right back, and then they settled comfortably into sharing the spoon between them. For a moment - not for the first time, and she doubted it'd be the _last_ time - Nomad wondered how, of all people, it had been Clutch who'd become like a brother.

"Nomad."

She turned in her seat to see Stalker striding toward her, and her stomach did a nervous little flip. She didn't have the best relationship with the Ranger - they'd got off to a bad start on her first mission as a Joe, when Nomad had questioned Stalker's decision to have her stay with Lifeline. Though he'd seemed to understand her doubt when Hawk had made her explain her…issues…Nomad felt Stalker still didn't quite trust her. It was the same kind of feeling she got with Duke - the feeling that she'd always have to prove herself to him.

She also had a feeling that Psyche Out would tell her she was imagining it. He'd probably be right, of course.

"Hey, Stalker," she answered, a little more warily then she liked.

He nodded to the other Joes at the table - Clutch, Wetsuit and Dusty - then got back to business. "Got a job for you," he said. "Briefing room, 2100. "

"Yes, sir." Nomad paused, then added somewhat hopefully, "Is it -"

She broke off as Stalker shook his head, but - surprisingly - he answered patiently. "It ain't Cobra. Not this time."

_Damn_. She wasn't game enough to say it, but from the half-amused, half-exasperated Stalker gave her just before he turned and strode out of the mess hall, she figured her expression said it all.

Clutch elbowed her in the ribs. "Looks like they're tryin' to get rid of you, Nomad."

She elbowed him back playfully. "Shut up."

"Well, it was only a matter of time, wasn't it?"

"Clutch…" she warned.

He smirked at her. "I mean, seriously -"

Nomad brandished the wooden spoon.

"Okay, _okay_!" The grease monkey held his hands up in surrender. "Yeesh, you try an' have a bit of fun around here."

* * *

><p>Duke and Stalker were leaning against the table, chatting quietly, when Nomad stepped into the briefing room five minutes early. Both stopped and turned to her, but instead of the appraising glares she was used to, Duke flashed a rare grin. "Hey, Nomad."<p>

"Sir," she answered awkwardly. Conversational tone wasn't something she heard very often from Duke; she wasn't sure if she should try and think of something else to say, or not. She settled for a kind of half-grin, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

She was saved by a knock on the door. She breathed a sneaky sigh of relief - which she had a feeling Stalker noticed, judging by his suppressed chuckle - as Duke called, "Come in."

The door opened, and Outback walked in, followed by Recondo. "Hey, look, it's the old team," Outback said, grinning at Nomad.

She could pick the exact moment he remembered what happened last time they'd been a team - his grin faded and he started fumbling for words. "I mean…uh…"

She waved a hand dismissively. "Over it, Outback."

Not exactly the truth - that night would always be with her. But she could deal with that, now.

"Good to hear," Recondo said, clapping her on the shoulder. "Anibal says hello, by the way."

Nomad blinked, surprised that the leader of the Tucaro tribe in Sierra Gordo would remember her. "Really? Well, say hey back for me next time you talk to him. Tell him to save me a fried spider."

The jungle trooper chuckled. "Will do."

Stalker cleared his throat. "Well, now you're all here, might as well get down to it. Long story short, you three are gonna be bad guys."

Nomad frowned, puzzled, and glanced sideways at Recondo and Outback. Both were nodding thoughtfully; apparently she was missing something. "Huh?" she asked stupidly. She quickly added, "Sir?" when Duke raised an eyebrow at her.

"Probationary Joe training," the first shirt explained.

"Oh. Right."

Nomad hadn't had to go through the Joe selection process - Hawk had sought her out for the Joe team after her old boss had recommended her. She'd had to pass standard medical exams, of course, and a fitness test, but apart from that, she'd become a Joe as soon as she stepped into the Pit.

The greenshirts, on the other hand - as well as satisfying their instructors in everyday training - had to pass a training _mission_ to become probationary Joes. It was set up exactly the same as a real mission - paperwork, orders, gear (although they used the paintball guns from the firing range, grenades were replaced with flashbangs, blades were either the harmless, theatrical retracting kind or made of rubber). The greenies' objective was to complete their mission in the set time while avoiding a team of 'bad guy' Joes. A team captain - usually Duke - judged the greenies' performance. If he deemed them worthy, they'd become probationary Joes.

"So, where we headed?" Recondo wondered.

Outback ran a hand through his hair, grinning ruefully. "I'm guessin' it's not the beach."

"Sorry, Outback," Stalker said. "You'll be heading to Olympic National Forest, Washington state. Ace'll fly you out to McChord AFB tomorrow morning at 0600. There'll be a car waiting for you."

"Don't think we're gonna make it easy on you three, either," Duke added. "This training is as much for you as it is for them."

Was it Nomad's imagination, or did he look at her a little longer than necessary?

"You got it, Top," Recondo said, giving a thumbs-up. "Them greenshirts're gonna have to work pretty damn hard to get past us."

"Good."

"You'll get further orders tomorrow when you leave," Stalker advised, "and gear will be packed for you."

With that, the discussion was over. Nomad followed Outback and Recondo to the door - and then turned back. "Hey, Stalker?"

"Yeah?"

"Did you really kill an alligator with your knife?"

He stared at her. "No," he answered.

Damn Clutch. She'd kill him.

"It was a crocodile. Damn near took my leg off, too."


	21. Chapter 21

Well, it's been a while...again. I really need to find some inspiration :/ and not get sidetracked.

Hope this chapter is good enough, considering the long wait. I'm not entirely happy with it, but right now it's the best I've got. I think I need to start wrapping this story up; it might be Nomad's last major one for a while, unless I get a really awesome idea for another one...need to start working on some of my other ones, too.

Anyway, here you go. Hope you enjoy...is anyone still reading this? :p

* * *

><p>Lockjaw glanced around uneasily, his gun raised as he squinted into the darkness. The stocky young man was quiet - it was surprising, given how he hardly ever shut his mouth back at the Pit.<p>

Quiet…but nowhere near quiet enough. His boots rustled through the leaves on the ground, his BDUs caught on twigs occasionally, snapping them with tiny cracks. Tiny sounds that, to anyone who didn't know better, wouldn't sound out of place in a forest.

But the twigs cracked just a little too often, and the rustlings were too uniform to be made by any animal.

Nomad had been tracking the greenshirt for the last hour, watching him blunder through the forest. So many times she'd had to choke back a bitter laugh - Lockjaw looked exactly how she must have looked during her first couple of weeks in the Amazon. She'd been clumsy, too…and jumpy. Every sound had made her spin around, readying her gun, fearing an attack by insurgents.

Most often than not, the startling noises were birds taking flight. Once or twice, though…

She shook her head. There was no point thinking about that now; what was done was done.

Plus, if Lock caught her while she was reminiscing, Duke and Stalker would _not_ let her forget it.

Lockjaw was alone. She pressed herself closer to her perch, a thick branch about four metres off the ground. She'd climbed up the big tree about ten minutes ago for a short break - there was no chance of losing Lockjaw, he'd been walking in the same direction since she'd come across him.

He hadn't seen her yet - stupid damn greenie, he should've _known_ to be looking in the trees, going up against a team that included Recondo - but if he happened to look up and spot her, she had nowhere to go. He'd pin her down with his paintball gun, and that would be it.

He didn't look up. He walked right underneath her; she didn't move, but she followed him with her eyes as he went. It would've been _so_ easy to drop down as he passed, to bring him ground and take him out.

She should do it that way, quick and quiet.

She_ should_…but she didn't. Despite how annoying he could be when he wouldn't shut up, Nomad liked Lockjaw. This was his chance to become a Joe; she didn't want to take it away from him that easily.

She waited until the greenshirt moved on, then quickly swung out of the tree, keeping the trunk between her and Lockjaw. Both knees popped as she landed and she staggered a little - it sounded loud to her, but Lockjaw's footsteps didn't falter. Either he hadn't heard, or he was playing her.

Nomad grinned wryly to herself. If he _was_ playing her, he was going to be sorry. Still, she waited until she could barely hear him before she crept cautiously around the tree. It wouldn't do to get shot by a greenie, no matter _how_ close to being a Joe he was. She'd never hear the end of it.

Gripping the handle of her prop knife tightly, Nomad stalked Lockjaw, creeping along behind him, planting her toes first, then her heels. She had no other gear to worry about - Duke and Stalker had said gear would be packed for them, but what they hadn't mentioned was that there would be very little of it. What they _had_ provided was hardly worth having; Nomad could do more damage with a sharp stone than she could with the fake knife, and she was sure the BDU's they'd been given were leftovers from laundry, too tattered and worn to be any use for anything other than rags. The shirt she'd been given was huge, with only a couple of buttons remaining and a ragged slash across the back, from shoulder to waist.

Then again, at least she'd been _given_ a shirt. Somewhere to the east of her, Outback was making his way through the trees shirtless, shoeless, and with one 'broken' arm in a sling. To her west, Recondo had no weapons and a patch over one eye.

Nomad had started off barefoot, but had ripped the sleeves off her shirt and wrapped them around her feet; she'd rubbed dirt on her arms to camouflage her pale skin. The prop knife was the only 'weapon' she had. The only other items in her pack had been a few snack bars and a copy of their orders, which in layman's term basically said, 'Stop the greenshirts before they get to Duke'. They'd been provided a map to memorise, which showed them only the area the exercise would be carried out in…but it was a large area, and they'd only had five minutes each to look it over. All Nomad, Recondo and Outback could do was split the area between the three of them and scout. She figured it was all part of making the exercise worthwhile for the more experienced Joes.

Nomad froze as Lockjaw stopped and knelt, pulling something out of his pocket and unfolding it. She craned her neck, trying to get a peek at it, but couldn't see. If it was a map, it could be very helpful - especially if it had Duke's location on it. Of course, that wasn't likely…Duke wouldn't make it _that_ easy for the greenies, surely.

If it _was_ a map, though, it was more than what she had now.

Oh well. She was starting to get bored, anyway.

Lockjaw never even knew she was there. Sneaking up behind him, Nomad pressed the fake blade to his thick neck, holding back a grin as he drew in a sharp breath. "Move and you're dead," she muttered into his ear, making him jump. "Figuratively speaking."

"Dammit, I didn't even hear you." The greenshirt slumped forward with a groan, giving in far too easily for Nomad's liking. "How did you _do_ that?"

"Lots of practice," she said, relieving him of his paintball gun and slinging it over her own shoulder. "Remind me to recommend more environmental training. I could hear every step you took, Lock."

Lockjaw sighed. "Sorry, Nomad."

His apologetic tone almost made her feel guilty. What if she'd just cost him his chance of becoming a Joe? It _did_ seem a little unfair, given that the greenies were up against a team that had a survival expert and an actual jungle trooper on it.

Then again, sometimes you were just outmatched. Nomad knew that feeling well. Better the greenies learnt it now than in a real mission, when it might just cost them their lives.

…Or their friends' lives…

Nomad shoved Lockjaw forward. "You know what to do. On the ground and spread 'em."

Lockjaw obeyed, sprawling facedown and placing his feet wide apart. Nomad patted him down, searching for concealed weapons; she found a prop K-bar down the side of his boot (she would've stolen his boots if they'd fit her, but they were too big) and a handgun loaded with blood pellets tucked into his waistband. She took both, then snatched the piece of paper from his hand. A quick glance proved her right: it was a topographical map of the exercise area. There were no specific marks on it - Duke could be _anywhere_.

Still, it might save them both a bit of walking.

"Alright, Lock, you can stand up now."

Lockjaw got to his feet. Nomad studied him as he brushed himself off: he was only a couple of inches taller than her, but he had her outweighed by at least thirty kilos. He was far from the biggest guy she'd gone up against…that didn't mean she wanted him taking a swing at her, though. She kept her distance. "Do you know where Duke is?" she asked, waving the map.

Lockjaw looked at it, then shrugged.

"How many greenies are there out here?"

He shrugged again.

She raised an eyebrow. "Not talking, now?"

He shook his head.

"Well, that's a first." Nomad grinned at him. "Fine. Get moving."

* * *

><p>They'd been walking for an hour. Nomad hadn't been allowed to wear her watch, of course, but she stole Lockjaw's, ignoring his half-hearted protests. It was just past two in the morning.<p>

"Where's Duke?" she asked again.

Lockjaw clenched his jaw stubbornly.

"You might as well tell me," she insisted. "I know you know."

"I don't."

"Sure you do," she said, watching him carefully. "I've spent enough time with Psyche Out to know when somebody's lying."

The greenshirt glanced sideways at her, then quickly averted his eyes. "I'm not lying."

"You are." Nomad wasn't good at reading people - noamount of time with Psyche Out would change that - but she had her answer now anyway. Even _she_ could tell the guy was a terrible liar. "So how about you tell me. Right now."

Lockjaw pretended to think about it. "Hmm…nah."

Nomad sighed.

Then she raised the handgun with the blood pellets and shot the greenie in the shoulder.

"Ow!" Lockjaw yelped. "Jeez! That stings, you know!"

For a moment, Nomad felt a surge of…exhilaration. He clearly hadn't expected that. For once, she was in complete control of the situation; she could do whatever she wanted -

Exhilaration turned to horror, which quickly turned into disgust.

That feeling - was that how Goldilocks had felt when he tracked her down, killed her team and broke her? Had he felt that same thrill, taunting her at the cancer research building? Had Andy felt it when he was reopening her old wounds?

She was pretty sure they had.

So…did that make her just as twisted as he was? Or was she overreacting? It _had_ only been for a moment…

"Uh…Nomad?"

Something must have shown on her face. She blinked stupidly at the greenie, who was rubbing his paint-splattered shoulder as he looked at her questioningly. "Forget it. You just…walk."

Lockjaw gave her an odd look and went to shrug again, but apparently thought better of it. He flapped his arm dismissively instead, turning to walk ahead of her. She followed behind, close enough to keep him in check yet still far enough behind so he couldn't turn around and try to launch a surprise attack.

"So, Nomad -"

She sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. "Do you want me to shoot you again?"

* * *

><p>The trees thinned out a little as the ground grew rockier and began to slope upward - they were getting closer to the mountain range up ahead. There were gleaming patches of snow on the highest parts; Nomad was glad the area they were training in ended halfway up the mountain. She hated the cold, and in any case walking through snow in her makeshift shoes would've been seriously uncomfortable. Her feet were already starting to ache - the sleeves wrapped around them did nothing to stop the rocks jabbing in.<p>

Still…it was nothing compared to having her feet smacked with a crowbar. Nomad allowed herself a grim smile. It seemed like Andy had done her a favour, toughening her up even more.

Next time she saw him, she'd thank him.

And then she'd -

No. Stop that. Nomad shook her head.

Every now and then Lockjaw would glance reproachfully at her. Somehow, he'd managed to keep his mouth mostly shut as he stumbled along, holding his 'wounded' shoulder, making far too much noise for Nomad's liking. She eyed him back, daring him to try something, almost _hoping_ he would.

…Because if he did, she'd be able to forget - for a few minutes, at least - that horrible feeling. Even though she'd only felt it for a second or two, it was enough to make her feel slightly sick even now; her hands shook just thinking about it. Sure, it'd just been a pellet full of fake blood…and it wasn't as if she'd never taken any satisfaction in shooting certain Joes on the paintball range sometimes.

But she'd never shot somebody - paintball pellet or not - for no good reason. The fact that it was a training mission made no difference; she shouldn't have done it.

She was shaken out of her thoughts as a brief flash caught her eye, a small point of white light glinting on the mountainside. It was there, then gone - but Lockjaw's head had lifted as well. She pretended to be inspecting the map as the greenie cast her a look he no doubt thought was sneaky.

Whether Lockjaw knew something or not, Nomad decided to head for the light anyway. Why not, she had nothing else to go on. It was either Duke, or some poor unsuspecting campers were soon going to get one hell of a surprise.

She kept one eye on the mountain, the other on Lockjaw's broad back. The light twinkled twice more, exactly thirty minutes apart, before a small hill blocked the area from sight. That was enough, though - Nomad was almost certain it was a signal from Duke. No civilian would be that precise.

Lockjaw suddenly stumbled, losing his footing on some loose rock. Nomad raised her paintball gun immediately. "Up. Now."

The greenie gave her a hurt look. "What if I've broken my ankle?"

"Have you?"

"Nah."

Nomad couldn't completely hide her grin. "Then get up. Don't make me -"

Lockjaw flung a handful of gravelly dirt at her. She threw her arm up, shielding her eyes from the grit. She raised the paintball gun with the other, ready to fire off a few random shots in Lockjaw's general direction, but the greenie lobbed a fist-sized rock at her. It glanced off her shoulder just as she squeezed the trigger; the pellets she fired missed Lockjaw by a foot.

The greenshirt lunged at her, making a clumsy grab for the rifle. He missed and caught the strap instead; the gun slipped off Nomad's shoulder. They both overbalanced.

She let the gun go, pulling out her prop knife instead. He wouldn't be able to get a good shot in with the rifle if she could stay close to him -

"Oof!"

But not _that_ close.

Nomad gasped for breath as Lockjaw landed heavily on top of her, his hand wrapping around her wrist. Instinct took over as he started to squeeze and her fingers popped open; with her free hand she seized his collar, yanked him down toward her and headbutted him before shoving him sideways. He hit the ground and rolled to all fours; Nomad, her head already pounding, bounced to her feet.

Lockjaw scrambled for the paintball gun. There was no way Nomad could reach it before he did.

She launched herself at him, grabbing his legs and yanking him backwards. He kicked out at her, but only half-heartedly.

"C'mon, Lock, I've had worse," Nomad grunted, still grasping the greenshirt's ankles. "This is your chance, _mean_ it!"

This time the heel of his combat boot connected firmly with her sternum, driving her back. For the second time in as many minutes, Nomad struggled for breath.

"Sorry!" Lockjaw called over his shoulder, making a final desperate dive for the paintball gun.

Okay. He'd had enough chances, now. Nomad pulled the handgun from her waistband and fired a warning shot into the dirt in front of him. "Stop!"

He jerked as a backspray of red paint hit him in the face, but he didn't listen. He _should_ have - fighting hand-to-hand was one thing, but when your opponent had a gun…

Then again, Nomad couldn't really judge him. She probably wouldn't have stopped, either.

Lockjaw grabbed the rifle and threw himself onto his back - but Nomad didn't give him time to get a round off. She fired again; this time the blood pellet splattered all over Lockjaw's chest.

He stopped, looking down. "Aww, dammit."

Nomad tucked her gun away, retrieved her knife, then plucked the paintball gun from Lockjaw's hands. "You just got yourself killed," she said, not unkindly. "Next time somebody with a gun says 'stop', you stop. That way, you might live long enough to get another chance to escape."

She held back her derisive snort. That was _real_ rich, coming from her. Still, if it saved his life one day…

He nodded, chastened. "Sorry, Nomad," he said.

She waved a hand dismissively, grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet. "Yeah, well…now you know," she said.

Lockjaw grinned. "And knowing's half the battle, right?" he replied, completing the well-known Pit catchphrase.

"I guess so." Nomad started to walk.

Lockjaw crashed after her. "So, I can talk now, can't I?"

"No," she answered sternly. "You're supposed to be dead."

"Oh. Right." He shut his mouth.

The relative silence lasted a whole five minutes. "It's just that -" the greenie started.

"Lockjaw."

"Okay, okay. Only -"

"_Lockjaw_."

"I know, I know, but I just -"

Nomad turned and raised the paintball gun threateningly.

Lockjaw stopped, holding his hands up in surrender. "Hey, sorry. I just…" He trailed off, shrugging instead.

The look on his face was enough to make Nomad feel a little guilty. Again. She sighed. "_Fine_…but keep it down. This is training for me, too, you know."

Lockjaw raised an eyebrow. "Oh, sure, like _you_ need any more training," he grumbled, coming up to walk beside her. "Duke said we'd be up against a team of jungle specialists, but _this_ is just unfair. Like _you_ guys need any more training in a place like _this_."

It took a moment for Nomad to realise what Lockjaw had just said. When she did, she stumbled slightly. Lockjaw turned to her; she covered up by kneeling and pretending to adjust the material around her feet.

Duke considered her a jungle specialist?

…Seriously?

Nomad mentally shook her head. Nah. He must've just meant Outback and Recondo; she wasn't a specialist. She'd never had any specific training. She'd just spent a lot of time in the jungle, that was all.

Standing up, she eyed Lockjaw critically…and was a little satisfied when Lockjaw shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. "First, Lock, there's no such thing as enough training. Doesn't matter how good we think we are; we can always be better. That's why we're Joes."

"I guess…"

"Second; nothing is _ever_ fair." Nomad paused, realising she sounded a little bitter. "And third, I'm not a specialist."

"But…sure you are," Lockjaw insisted after a few moments, glancing sideways at her. "I mean, not everyone could do…you know, what you did."

She threw him a sharp look. Was he trying to put her off? Keep her distracted so the other greenies had a chance?

"Well, it's true," he went on. "I mean, we all know, too - the greenies, that is. It's like, a Pit legend."

Nomad raised an eyebrow…and yet, she was strangely flattered. There were so many stories that were 'Pit legends'; she honestly didn't think _hers_ was worthy, compared to some of the things the others had done. "Yeah, well…There's nothing legendary about it. I was just lucky," she said bluntly, striding past him.

"But when you were -"

"That's enough, Lock," she said firmly. "If you have questions, I don't mind. But not right now. Save them for when we get back."

Lockjaw looked at her, horrified. "Oh, shit, I'm sorry, I didn't mean - please don't shoot me again."

"Forget it." She waved his apologies off, giving him a small smile to take the edge off her rebuke. "Anyway, tell me what you know about working in a jungle environment. What've they taught you? Because honestly, you suck at it."

* * *

><p>Duke was waiting about a third of the way up the mountain, standing at the very edge of a steep drop and gazing south with his hands on his hips, looking very commanding even though he couldn't have known anyone was watching.<p>

Typical Duke. Nomad grinned to herself - even _she_ knew how to relax better than Duke did.

And that was saying something.

She shifted, sweeping aside the sharp stone that'd been digging into her thigh, then flattened herself to the ground again and peered down at the top sergeant. He had a scrap of material or something sticking out of one pocket, hanging down beside his leg. The only move he'd made in the last forty minutes had been to check his watch, then hold up a torch and click it on and off a few times. She hadn't seen anyone else yet…but that didn't mean they weren't there. There were plenty of places to hide. With the drop in front of Duke, there were only three ways to approach him; from the west, the east, or from the steep rise to the north. Nomad had chosen to skirt around Duke's camp and climb about a hundred metres higher up the mountain, where she found a small outcrop of rock to survey the area from.

She tensed as she heard a faint scratching coming from behind her. "Lock," she hissed, turning around. "Stop that."

The greenshirt froze guiltily in the middle of scratching a smiley face on the rock he was leaning against. Nomad sighed, wondering how Beachhead managed to not kill all his greenies; she could barely restrain herself from throttling just one of them.

An owl hooted softly nearby, somewhere to the left.

Well…she couldn't sit here all night. Time to go.

She wondered if Duke would attack her. He probably would...he wouldn't want to make it too easy, after all. "Lock, stay here."

Lockjaw sat up straight and went to say something. Nomad pointed warningly at him; he snapped his mouth shut again and gave her a thumbs up instead.

Nomad picked up her paintball gun - but before she could slither into the trees on either side of her outcrop, a dark shape burst into the clearing below, making a dash for Duke.

There was a _pop_ from Nomad's left. The figure dropped to the ground, grabbing his thigh with a frustrated 'dammit!'. A moment later, a second figure darted out, grabbed the first under the arms and hauled him back under cover.

The owl hooted again.

Nomad rolled her eyes and headed into the trees, slipping from trunk to trunk as quietly as she could. "I heard you the first time," she muttered.

Outback, now wearing combat boots and a shirt (unbuttoned and with the sleeves ripped off because it was far too small) started, half-standing and swinging the barrel of his paintball gun around. "Dammit, Nomad, don't _do_ that!"

"Sorry. Can't help it," she retorted, pushing the gun aside.

Outback snorted quietly, then jerked his head toward Duke's camp. "I think that was Cactus I just shot. Other one looked like Kismet. I took out a couple of the others a few hours ago, they're waiting somewhere back there." He gestured vaguely over his shoulder, further down the mountain.

"Lock's up there. I haven't seen anyone else," she said with a nod toward her outcrop, relieved that she hadn't been the only one to let her victim tag along. "So…shall we get this over with?"

Outback grinned roguishly.

Nomad knew that look. She grinned back.

* * *

><p>When Outback said he 'took out' a couple of the other greenshirts, Nomad had thought he meant 'killed' - like she'd 'killed' Lockjaw. She hadn't expected to see Tracks the tank jockey and Fidget the data analyst tied to a tree with their socks stuffed in their mouths. Both glared lethal weapons at Outback, but spared Nomad - they didn't know her well enough to risk it. She smiled sweetly at them anyway.<p>

While Outback got his greenies ready to move, Nomad circled around the camp to bag herself a couple more.

Cactus was sitting with his paint-splattered leg in front of him, grumbling to himself. Kismet knelt beside him, her medical kit by her knee as she wrapped a bandage around the 'wound'.

Nomad deliberately snapped a twig as she approached the pair - they hadn't noticed her yet, and as with Lockjaw, she wanted to give them a chance. After all, they'd got this far.

Kismet spun around immediately, snatching the paintball gun from the ground beside her. The mousy little medic was quick - quicker than Nomad expected.

She dashed sideways as Kismet squeezed off three quick rounds, but was saved trying to fire back as Recondo materialised from apparently nowhere (something he was fond of doing) and grabbed Cactus in a headlock. "Put it down, Kismet."

"Don't," Cactus urged, before throwing a curse at Recondo.

Kismet looked from Nomad to Recondo, then to her medical kit, and lowered the gun. "Okay…just let me get my kit," she said. Her voice was stronger than Nomad had ever heard it; perhaps the medic was like Tripwire - he always seemed out of his depth, until he had a bomb to focus on.

"You can get the kit if you drop the gun," Recondo bargained firmly.

Without argument, Kismet slipped the strap off her shoulder and gently lowered the paintball gun to the ground. "Alright."

Recondo hauled Cactus to his feet and gestured to the kit. "Easy now."

Kismet moved forward slowly and picked up the case.

"'Atta girl. Now -"

Recondo jerked backwards as Kismet rushed him, swinging the kit rather violently at his head. Cactus broke free and turned to help the medic; a pellet from Nomad's paintball gun splashed across his back, pulling him up short. "Aaah, goddammit."

Nomad stopped to watch as Recondo blocked Kismet's attack with his own gun, knocking the medical kit aside. She overbalanced but recovered quickly, spinning around and swinging the kit again, this time backhanded. The jungle trooper ducked the blow and stuck his leg out; Kismet nimbly hopped over him, jabbing her fist toward his head. Recondo dropped his gun, grabbed Kismet's arm and allowed himself to fall backwards, planting a foot against her belly and flipping her over his head.

Nomad let out a snort of disbelief as the medic arched her back and landed lightly on her feet. Then, feeling that she should probably do something to help Recondo, she took aim. "Stop, Kismet."

Kismet froze…though she looked slightly mutinous as Recondo tore a strip from his shirt and tied her wrists behind her back.

Nomad smirked. "Lifeline wouldn't approve of you taking people out with a medical kit," she pointed out.

"Lifeline's not here, though, is he?" Kismet glanced over at the kit, and her defiant expression turned into the familiar worried one. "Wait…you're not gonna tell him, are you?"

Recondo clapped her on the shoulder. "Pretty sure Lifeline wouldn't care less if it saved your hide, but your secret's safe with us, Kismet." He looked over at Nomad. "You seen Outback?"

And now it was back to business. "Yeah, he's back this way," she said, waving a hand vaguely back the way she'd come. "We've got a plan."

* * *

><p>"How come <em>I <em>have to do it?"

"Because he won't expect it from _you_. Now quit whinin' and start climbin'."

Nomad rolled her eyes and handed Outback her paintball gun. "Fine. Just make sure he doesn't see me; he'll _jump_ at the chance to take a swing at me."

Outback grinned. "Deal." He clapped her on the shoulder, then glanced up toward the top of the cliff looming above them. "Ready?"

Nomad followed his gaze. The sun was just coming up; if they left it any later it'd get in her eyes. "Yeah."

The big man nodded and turned, then glanced back. "Hey, about before…with the greenies -"

She waved him off. "Don't worry about it. Get going. Give me five minutes before you let them go."

Outback studied her for a moment. "Yeah. Right," he said finally.

With a sigh, Nomad knelt and tightened the laces of the boots she'd taken from Kismet.

And then she started to climb.

* * *

><p>The flag hanging from Duke's pocket made it pretty obvious what had to happen to complete the mission. Kismet had confirmed the Joes' suspicions under duress; Outback had threatened to 'hurt' Tracks and Fidget if the medic hadn't told him what he wanted to know.<p>

Nomad wasn't sure how she felt about that tactic - especially after what had happened with Lockjaw - but she'd kept her mouth shut.

Recondo's eyes were on her though. And Outback had been unusually apologetic.

She readjusted her footing, wincing slightly as a pebble rolled beneath her toe and she dropped a couple of centimetres. It wasn't far - but being fifty metres off the ground without a harness or ropes, it was far enough.

Hell, even an extension cord had been better than nothing.

Nomad grinned wryly to herself. She really _was_ starting to hate heights.

She was about ten feet from the top of the cliff - Duke's camp was right above her. If he looked over the edge, he'd see her clinging to the side of the cliff, and then she'd be screwed.

At least he probably wouldn't shoot her on sight and risk her falling. He'd let her climb up. _Then_ he'd shoot her.

"Duke!"

Nomad tilted her head as she heard Tracks' deep, albeit muffled, voice. She began to climb slowly, fingers digging into crevices in the stony wall, pushing herself up with her legs. She was no rock climber, but it was easy enough - she might have enjoyed herself…if she'd had a harness.

She reached the top and cautiously peeked over, half expecting Duke to grab her by the shirt, haul her up and proceed to beat the crap out of her…but all she could see were the heels of the first shirt's boots. Which, to be honest, was better than the toes of his boots and the muzzle of a loaded paintball gun. His attention was on Tracks and Fidget, gingerly stumbling toward him barefoot and blindfolded, their hands tied behind their backs. Both had pieces of torn up shirt stuffed into

"Huh." Duke sighed, half-shrugged and shut his mouth, watching the two greenies approach. Nomad couldn't see his face, but she was pretty sure he was wearing his exasperated look.

She knew that look well.

Taking a deep breath, she heaved herself over the top of the cliff and drew the handgun from the waistband of her ragged BDUs. She crept forward slowly - he was only a few metres away…if she could just reach him without him hearing…she was so close…

The flag hanging from Duke's pocket was _right_ there. She stretched out her arm -

Duke spun, grabbing Nomad's wrist just before her fingers closed on the flag. Startled, Nomad threw herself backwards; Duke released her and she landed heavily on her ass and elbows, wincing as the rocky ground scraped off skin. Her gun skittered away in the direction of the cliff - she hoped it hadn't fallen off the edge. She was vaguely aware of two faint pops and Tracks and Fidget dropping to the ground behind the first shirt…probably shot by Recondo and Outback.

"Nice try, Nomad." Duke drew his own gun from his thigh holster and pointed it at her.

"Not done yet, Duke." Nomad pushed off the ground, arching her back and lashing out with her foot in what the ninjas might have called _almost_ a roundhouse kick. Duke's hand flew wide as he squeezed the trigger; a paintball pellet exploded across the ground a few metres away.

Despite herself, Nomad was smugly pleased with the brief look of surprise that flitted across the first shirt's face. Take that, Duke.

Nomad followed through with the kick, rolling onto her knees and shifting her weight to swipe her other leg around low. It wasn't graceful - not that she cared - but it was all she needed; her calf smacked into Duke's hard enough to throw him off balance. He stumbled.

Nomad bounced to her feet and tackled him.

They fell in an awkward tangle of arms and legs, Nomad landing heavily on the top sergeant. He rolled, shoving her off, and lunged for something.

The gun.

Nomad grabbed Duke's foot with both hands and threw all her weight backwards. It didn't stop him...but it slowed him down.

She dived over him, snatched the gun up and spun around - only to see Duke already reaching for her.

Nomad squeezed the trigger.

Duke glanced down at the red spray across his shirt, then raised an eyebrow at Nomad. "You're getting better. The extra hand-to-hand's paying off." He offered his hand to help her up.

Nomad eyed him suspiciously, reminded of her first - and until now, only - one-on-one session with Duke. She yanked the flag from his pocket.

Duke grinned. "Alright. Joes win."

Nomad took his hand and let him pull her to her feet. A cheer came from the trees as Recondo and Outback emerged, frogmarching Kismet and Cactus between them. Lockjaw wandered into sight behind them.

"You know, you could've shot him for me," Nomad muttered to Outback as they helped Tracks and Fidget to their feet.

"We were going to," the survival expert answered, "but that one gave us the slip." He jerked his head in Kismet's direction.

Nomad gave him a look. "Really?"

He nodded. "Yep. Reckon we've got an apprentice ninja on our hands."

"Huh. Who'd have thought?"

"I know, right?"

* * *

><p>The flight from McChord was almost over; Ace had just given them the ten minute notice. The atmosphere in the back of the plane was more subdued than it had been on the way over; Joes were tired, greenies were tired, and everyone was pretty much agreed on wanting to get back to the Pit, having a shower, hitting up the mess hall for lunch and grabbing a few hours sleep in the half day off Duke had given them.<p>

"So."

Aching, bruised, grazed all over and just starting to doze off, Nomad grunted irritably. "So what?"she grumbled.

There was an expectant pause.

Shit.

Nomad sat up straight, turning to Duke as he settled beside her. "Uh...I mean - yes, sir?" she finished lamely.

He looked at her a while longer. She was just about to shift uncomfortably when, surprisingly, he grinned. It was a little unnerving; Nomad shifted uncomfortably anyway.

"Honest opinion," Duke said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "What did you think of that?"

"Uh..." Nomad started, confused. "Of what?"

Duke sighed. "The exercise, Nomad," he said patiently. "What did you think of it?"

Why was he asking _her_? "I…well…I guess it wasn't too bad. Why?"

He shrugged. "I thought you might have something to say about it. How did the greenies go?"

Nomad glanced past Duke to Lockjaw, who was exuberantly re-enacting what appeared to be his escape attempt to Tracks and Cactus, who honestly looked like they couldn't care less. Nomad couldn't blame them; this had been their chance to become Joes. With the unexpected exception of Kismet, the rest of the greenies had been taken out easily. There'd still be missions for them if they didn't make it - after all, some had already been on missions under Joe instruction - but Nomad knew how it felt, working so hard just to get nowhere.

Still...she didn't want to say anything that might hurt their chances.

But then again, if she didn't, and they weren't ready...

The top sergeant clearly wasn't going to wait much longer for an answer.

"Well...I mean, they did alright, considering," she said quickly.

"Considering what?" Duke pressed.

Nomad shrugged. "Considering they were up against Recondo and Outback, for one," she pointed out. "And...to be honest, they could've been quieter. A _lot_ quieter. I mean, it's _hard_ to move around out there and not make noise; it takes practice, and they haven't had much training for an environment like that, but -"

Nomad broke off awkwardly as Duke fixed his blue eyes on her, studying her. "I mean...it's just...It's not easy."

Oh, yeah. Real intelligent.

Duke nodded. "Good." He stood up. "Oh, I want to see you in my office tomorrow, 0800," he added.

She looked up at him, dismayed. "What? Why? What have I done _now_?" she asked before she could stop herself.

Duke chuckled. "It's nothing to worry about. Just something I want to talk to you about."

The top sergeant strode away, heading toward Recondo.

Nomad sighed. Now she was _definitely_ going to worry.


End file.
